


I remain, Yours

by momatu



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Character Death - Not Edward or Bella
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 99,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momatu/pseuds/momatu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella is unexpectedly given an antique desk that once belonged to Edward, and in it she finds a letter he wrote to his cousin in 1918. She responds and sets them off on a journey neither could ever have expected. Perhaps there are some things we aren't meant to understand, just accept... Will eventually contain character death - NOT Edward or Bella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted years ago, but I never fully posted it to A03. It's just turned five years old, so I thought a good way for me to celebrate would be to finally post it in full here. I'm not making changes to the original, just completing the posting I started years ago.
> 
> The story is 50 chapters, about 380,000 words. It took over a year to write. I read a lot of letters written by WW1 soldiers to try to get the right expressions and wording.
> 
> This may remind you of “The Lake House” with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, at least at first, but I actually got the idea from a made for TV movie from about 20 – 25 years ago, “The Love Letter.”

This story will eventually contain character death.

Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

_Chicago, Ill_  
_June 24, 1918_

_Dear Cousin,_

_I hope this finds you well. I fear not much here has changed since my last letter. My mother continues in worrying herself sick over my intention to enlist as soon as I am able and continues in her attempts to dissuade me. She has now begun a new tactic. I am afraid she is intent on marrying me off to the first girl who will have me, if you can believe that. She has apparently decided that if I had a wife, I would not be so eager to get myself killed. I wish she could understand, I have no wish to “get myself killed” as she says. Our country is at war, and it is my duty to defend her. I cannot hide behind my mother’s skirts while others fight for our family’s freedom. She has, in the past few weeks alone, presented me with no less than five eligible young ladies. I do not know how she expects I would provide for a wife having only just turned 17 and still in school. So far, we have had the new assistant district attorney with his family, the Martin’s, and the Rollins’ for dinner. I have also escorted two of her friends’ daughters to the movies together with some friends. At least the movies were good. The girls, however, were silly, foolish things. Is it too much to ask to be able to carry on an intelligent, informed conversation? To hope for her to have an original or clever thought in her head? They were all pretty faces and empty heads. Young Miss Assistant District Attorney’s Daughter seems to be the frontrunner in my mother’s eyes, though I cannot see why. I have been informed I will be inviting her for a walk through the park, where I will buy her an ice cream I really must remember her name first._

_Thank you for your invitation to visit this summer; however, I am unable to accept. With school out, I have begun assisting my mother in her volunteer work with the Red Cross and at the hospital. There is really so much work to be done. She is now serving as secretary on the executive committee for the Chicago chapter and is instructing classes in home nursing. She recently worked a number of others in organizing a successful War Chest Auction. They visited every prominent family and business in Chicago and collected enough donations to net $2050 in sales for the benefit of the Red Cross._

_There is a brilliant young doctor at the hospital named Dr. Cullen. Almost without fail, the patients treated by him fare far better than those treated by any other doctor, even those with many more years experience. He is truly gifted and works tirelessly with the injured soldiers. The man seems to never rest. Between his work at the hospital and his volunteer work with the Red Cross, I don’t know how he finds time to eat and sleep. All the nurses are half in love, half afraid of him. I have spoken with him of my intention to become a doctor after the war, and he has been so kind as to lend me some of his medical texts. He has even gone so far as to talk to me of some of his cases and explain to me their treatments._

_My father and I attended the White Sox game on my birthday. It was a good game. We beat Cleveland 5 - 4. Ray Schalk was hit by a pitch in the 3rd and stole second; Nemo Leibold singled and brought him in. Eddie Collins hit one out to make it 3 - 0. Cleveland scored in the 5th and 7th and took the lead 4 - 3. After already scoring two in the 7th, Cleveland had the bases loaded with no one out, but Dave Danforth struck out Ray Chapman and got Steve O’Neill to hit into a double play. We scored two in the 9th to win it._

_I am glad we were able to attend the game, because it is unlikely my father will have much time for baseball in the coming months. His office is the very busy with a new case. Have you seen it in the papers? I am sure you must have. It is the biggest news in town as of late. The police arrested four people two days ago, and over one hundred waiters were taken into custody. They say they’d been poisoning drinks of people who tipped poorly. The four arrested were a man and wife charged with manufacturing the powder used and two bartenders for selling the powder at the bar of the waiters' union headquarters._

_Well, I must close. I hope you are all well and happy. I remain,_

_Your Cousin,  
Edward Masen_

 

“Edward, dear, may I come in?” 

Edward tensed; he looked up from the letter he had just written to his cousin, Mic, and saw his mother standing in his doorway. Elizabeth Masen had copper hair and green eyes, both of which her son had inherited from her. She was a thin, petite woman, which combined with her fair skin gave an initial impression of frailty. It was an entirely false impression, as Edward well knew. His mother was the strongest woman he had ever known; indeed, she was stronger than many men he knew. After her own mother’s early death, she had been largely responsible for raising her four younger siblings and had gone on to become a hospital nurse. No, his mother was anything but frail. As he looked at her, he could not help but notice the worried look in her eyes that seemed ever present since he told his parents of his intention to enlist in the military. He hated being the reason for that look.

He answered as he put his pen and ink away, and she came in, sitting on the window seat beneath the bay window. Anyone who did not know her well would likely not notice, but Edward could see the fear in her, and he knew that fear was for him. He could see the smile that did not reach her eyes, eyes that were faintly rimmed with red. He could see that her back was a little too straight, as if her body wanted to slump forward in exhaustion but she was stubbornly refusing to give in. He could see the hands folded on her lap that were gripping her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles were white, the handkerchief bearing a small tear. He sighed; she was once again going to attempt to persuade him to reconsider enlisting. 

“Mother, please don’t. I am quite determined. I have not made this decision lightly, and I am very aware of the danger. Please try to understand. Our country is at war, and I have a duty to defend her, just as my grandfathers did before me. I remember the stories they told me, and I have spoken with several of the wounded men at the hospital regarding their experiences. I am not romanticizing.” 

Elizabeth looked at her only child and words deserted her. She had known what he would say. Yes, she knew what he would say, and she was prepared for it. She was not the wife of a very prominent, successful attorney for nothing. She had learned much from her husband in the nearly twenty years of their marriage. She had listened to her husband perfect his opening statements and had heard him deliver such eloquent, compelling closing statements that she believed he could persuade any jury in the world that up was down and black was white. She had listened, and she had learned. Elizabeth had gone over what she would say, even going so far as to rehearse in front of the mirror in her room. She had planned to make her argument against his decision calmly and rationally, having carefully thought out answers to every point she knew he would make, but now as she sat here before him, she could not remember a single word of it. All she could think of were the men returning from the war he was so eager to fight in. All she could see were their broken, crippled bodies, and every one of them now bore her son’s face. She could feel the tears swelling behind her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Edward was just like his father: logical and determined. She needed to be equally logical and equally determined. Tears would not sway him. On the contrary, she knew they would hurt her case. If she let them fall, he would not truly listen to her but simply dismiss her words as merely those of a distraught mother desperate to keep her son safe. She needed to make him see reason. 

She squared her shoulders, and if that failed, she was not above drugging him and keeping him locked in his room until the horrible war was over. 

Elizabeth Masen looked at her son, took a deep breath, and steeled herself. “I invited Dr. Cullen to dine with us tonight, but he wasn’t able. He is working yet another extra shift at the hospital. They have lost so many doctors and nurses to the war, those remaining are barely able to keep up. He works the night shift, but I believe he is there most days as well. He told me again how invaluable your help has been. There are many women volunteers, but to have a young man is a wonderful thing. The men need another man to talk to, a confidant. He seems to have taken a genuine interest in you. You are very fortunate. He is thought of very highly at the hospital, and his recommendation will be very helpful when you apply to medical school.” She relaxed slightly as she finished the speech she had planned. All in all, Elizabeth was pleased with her delivery, and she had touched on the topics she wanted to drive home to her son - Point out to him that help is needed here. He can serve his country by staying here and becoming a doctor as he'd always planned. 

Edward smiled fondly at his mother. He hoped his cheeks had not grown pink at her praise. “My help at the hospital is hardly invaluable, mother, unlike yours. I am seventeen and untrained. I can do little more than follow orders and run errands.” 

Elizabeth continued, “You do not understand the value of someone who can be counted on to follow orders and run errands, Edward. Your doing so enables those who are trained to work where their skills are needed, rather than running those errands themselves. You would be amazed at the number of people who are completely incapable of following even the simplest of instructions, especially with regard to poor Dr. Cullen. Why, I have seen intelligent, skilled, experienced nurses forget what they were saying half way through a sentence when speaking to him. I cannot comprehend it.” 

Edward was much more relaxed now; he was almost laughing. “Dr. Cullen is very rich, very handsome, and very single. I am sure that has something to do with it. I think it was very kind of you to invite him. As highly regarded as he is, he does not seem to have any friends at the hospital. It almost seems as if people are afraid of him, though I cannot see why.” 

Smiling faintly, Elizabeth thought to herself that this was going even better than she had hoped it would. They were talking. She knew how much Edward admired the young doctor and how much his apparent regard meant to her son. Rather than try to deter him from military enlistment, she would need to remind him of his first love, medicine. She had always felt that Edward was born to be a doctor. He had endless patience for the sick and injured combined with a natural compassion for those in pain and afraid that could not be taught. He was very bright, among the top of his class, and had a thirst for knowledge that was insatiable. She had been a fool to think a young lady would suddenly interest him enough to change his mind. It was a foolishness inspired by blind panic. Edward came from a long line of soldiers. Both of his grandfathers had fought in the Civil War, and his father had served in the military as well, though fortunately before the war with Spain. He had been raised since the cradle to understand the duty one had to one’s country. She understood the necessity of fighting and supported the war effort in any way she could. She volunteered her time with the Red Cross helping the returning wounded, whether they be wounded physically or be suffering from shell shock. She visited with the families of men serving and and assisted those of men who were lost. Yes, she would do her part, but she would not sacrifice her son. 

Elizabeth persuaded herself to believe Edward would be of greater service to his country as a doctor, who could devote a lifetime to serving those soldiers injured during the war rather than as a soldier himself. What difference could one more soldier make compared to one more doctor? Now, she just needed to persuade him. 

“Most people are more easily intimidated than even they themselves realize. Their confidence in their own abilities is too easily shaken by someone more skilled than themselves. Even more so when that person is younger than themselves, and as you pointed out, very rich and very handsome. You are not one who is easily intimidated—you never have been—so I do not wonder that you cannot understand it. Dr. Cullen is almost too good to be true. Too good, I fear, for his own good.” 

Edward looked at his mother, “What do you mean, too good for his own good?” 

Elizabeth answered him, “I fear Dr. Cullen is so dedicated to his profession, so committed to helping his patients, that he neglects to take care of himself. Why, just look at the man. He is as pale as a ghost. He looks so tired sometimes, as if he never sleeps. There have been days I have seen him so engrossed in his work, I believe he has simply forgotten to eat. I have asked him on more than one occasion if he had eaten yet, and he has seemed almost surprised. I do not know whether the surprise was due to his not having noticed the hour or due to someone’s noticing he had not yet eaten. I admit, I am concerned for him. He has no family of his own: no parents, no siblings, and as you have stated, no close friends.” 

Edward was not surprised that his mother had noticed these things about Dr. Cullen. She had always noticed things about people that others had not, another trait he had inherited from her. Before he could answer her, she spoke again as she rose. “Don’t let me keep you, dearest. I only wanted to tell you that dinner will be served soon. Your father telephoned earlier. He will be home to dine with us tonight. I don’t expect that will often be the case until this retched trial is over, which will not likely be for quite some time. I am glad you and he enjoyed a ball game on your birthday. I am afraid there won’t be many ball games this summer. My word, poisoning people because they did not tip generously enough. What is this world coming to? I will let you get back to your letter. To whom are you writing?” 

Edward rose from his desk as his mother walked to his door. “To cousin Mic, but I’ve finished. I will be down in a moment.” 

As his mother left his room, Edward sat back down at his desk and shook his head, smiling. His mother was the only person who could always surprise him. He had been so certain she had come to speak to him solely to once again try to convince him not to enlist once he turned eighteen next June. He hoped she had finally accepted his decision, but he knew her well enough to know that she had not yet given up hope of dissuading him. Edward laughed to himself. This was a lull in the battle, but he had not yet won the war. 

Sitting at his desk, Edward was reminded of his Grandfather Masen. It had now been six years since he had passed, and Edward still missed him terribly. Sometimes, he almost felt that if he closed his eyes and really listened, he could still hear his voice. Having previously belonged to his grandfather, Edward's desk was his most prized possession. Made of mahogany with a beautiful green embossed leather writing surface, it appeared to have nine drawers with brass swan neck handles, four on either side and one long, shallow drawer across the middle. However, what appeared to be the bottom two drawers on both sides was in fact one double depth drawer. As a child, Edward had been mesmerized by his grandfather and the stories he told. He remembered his grandfather showing him the desk's hidden secret as a child. It contained a hidden compartment, and they would draw secret treasure maps and hide them there. It was childish Edward knew, but he continued their game even now, after a fashion, by hiding any letters he wrote in there before posting them. As he did so now, he thought of both of his grandfathers and hoped they would be proud of the man he was becoming and of the choices he was making for his life.

Rising from his desk, Edward went down to dinner. His mother was where he knew she would be, in her sitting room with her knitting all around her busily making warm clothing to be sent to the men fighting in Europe. He smiled at her as he walked passed and opened the pocket doors to the music room next door. 

“Oh, that would be lovely, Edward. Your music always makes my work seem to go faster.” 

“What would you like, mother? Debussy?” 

“Please, Edward. You know he is my favorite. Such a tragic loss, his passing. Though one suffers so terribly with _illness ___that perhaps for the poor man, it was a blessing.”

Edward stood at his piano trying to keep his laughter silent and his shoulders still. The way his mother would always look away and say _illness ___when discussing someone with cancer, as if daring to say the word aloud would cause it to spread, would never ceased to amaze him. Elizabeth Masen could nurse a man missing limbs that had been blown or ripped off in battle, bandage any wound, dress the most severe burns, but she refused to say a simple work like “cancer.” And really, _the poor man ___, indeed. It was well known that as a young man, Claude Debussy had begun an affair with a married woman and had lived with another woman out of wedlock for several years while being briefly engaged to still another woman. He later married but began an affair with the mother of one of his students and abandoned his wife for his mistress, who was _with child ___. And that was only what was known. How much more had he done that was unknown? His mother would never have a man such as Claude Debussy in her home, but as he is now dead, she calls him “poor man.” Even during his lifetime, Debussy knew little censor for his conduct until the attempted suicide of the wife he abandoned. Edward understood that he was only seventeen and not at all worldly, but he felt strongly that if he lived another hundred years, he would never understand society’s willingness to forgive artists for sins that in anyone else would be unpardonable.

As he sat at his piano and began playing, he admitted to himself that he was no better than society as a whole. He held no respect for Debussy as a fellow man, but he respected his talent greatly.

He had been playing for some time when they heard their maid opening the door for his father. His father soon entered the room, and Edward and his mother rose to greet him. 

“Now, this is what a man likes to arrive home to. If every man would have such a scene greet him at the end of the day I believe there would be much less work for men like myself. Elizabeth, my dear. Industrious as ever, I see. Edward, please keep playing, my boy. Your playing is soothing after a trying day.” 

Edward sat back down and began playing again. He knew this new case was especially trying for his father. Having prosecuted many difficult cases in the past, such as murders and kidnappers, he had seen the worst of humanity for far too long, but Edward knew this case was different. Always before, there was a motive to the crime; there was always a reason. Money, hatred, jealousy, revenge, violence whether brought on by rage or drunkenness or sheer cruelty... Whatever the reason had been, there had always been a reason. This case was different, though. There was no valid reason. Edward supposed reasons were very rarely valid to anyone other than the culprit himself, but this was truly incomprehensible. Over one hundred people had been perfectly willing to poison countless others, slipping Mickey Finn powder into their drinks, for something as trivial as how much they left as a tip. It was indefensible, the blatant disregard for the harm they might have caused. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had not killed anyone. Edward strongly believed such people had no place in society, and he was very proud of his father's commitment to protecting the innocent by prosecuting them to the full extent of the law. 

He continued to play some minutes longer until dinner was announced, and they went into the dining room together.

After dinner, they spent the evening together with Edward and his father playing a game of chess while his mother continued her knitting. It was quiet times like this, just the three of them at home safe and secure, that Edward most thought about what it must be like for the men serving in Europe and their families at home. He looked up at his father, contemplating his next move, and his mother, quietly humming to herself as she knitted a warm sweater for a man she would never know. He worried what it would be like for them after he left. Instead of quietly humming, would his mother cry while she worked, worrying for him? Was he safe... cold... hungry... Was he injured? Was he still alive? Would his father sit at this same table, staring at the chess board and his empty chair? Would they worry each time the telephone rang or someone knocked on the door? 

Edward wished more than ever that he had siblings. They had a large extended family and several close friends, but that would not be the same as if they had other children of their own to keep them busy and occupied, to keep them distracted from thinking of nothing but their worry for him. He sighed to himself. It was no good to dwell on things that could not be changed. Other families were facing these same things. Some were calling this The War to End All Wars. By all that is holy, Edward hoped they were right. Poison gases, aeroplane fights, submarines attacking passenger vessels, it seemed there was no limit to what man could create to kill other men. Never before had the world faced a situation like this; the entire world was at war. They needed to end this and ensure it would never happen again. They needed to ensure that no other generation would ever again have to face this.

It had been a hot, sticky day that had started bright and sunny but had grown increasingly cloudy. The sky quickly grew quite dark, and they had already turned on the electric light before his father had returned from work. Now the wind had picked up, and they could hear thunder in the distance. Edward’s mother looked up from her knitting at the first crash of thunder. 

“We appear to be in for quite a storm tonight. That wind is terrible.” She began putting her knitting away and rose. “Edward, dearest, I would like to arrive at the hospital early tomorrow. Does that sound all right to you?” 

Edward looked up from the chess board. “Yes, Mother, that is fine. Old Mr. Robards is expecting a shipment of comfort items from the Rockford Chapter tomorrow. I promised to go with him to pick them up at the station. He said he would come fetch me at the hospital.” 

Picking up her knitting bag, Elizabeth walked over to her husband and son and kissed them both lightly on the temple as she wished them both good night. 

Now alone, Edward and his father were able to speak freely. Edward was taking his father’s bishop when his father spoke, “Mr. Wilson heard from his son, Matthew. At the front. Somewhere in France. Can’t say where. He said that they had been shot at very heavily by the Germans the night before. Shrapnel falling all around them. Gas alarm was given. He said they had to get their masks on in a right hurry. Said those masks have saved their lives many times. Said Fritz shoots gas at them quite often, and he can get his mask on in five seconds.” His father was determinedly looking everywhere but at him as he spoke. Edward had heard his father preparing arguments for a trial many times and knew what an eloquent speaker his father was. To hear him speak now, unable to speak in full sentences, unable to look at him, he knew just how afraid his father was. 

Edward addressed his father, “I received a letter from Albert Fletcher today. Do you remember Albert? He was ahead of me in school, a senior when I was a freshman. He was on the baseball team with me and is a cousin to the Collins'. He’s only just shipped out. He wrote that his ship arrived safely. They had fine weather and a mild sea, and he was not a bit sea sick. He asked that I tell all our friends to write to him. A word from home goes well there he said.” 

Edward and his father were very evenly matched at chess. He watched the board as his father moved his rook and thought how much life was like a chess game, with his parents on one side of the board and himself on the other. They make their move, and he counters. 

“Yes, I believe Mrs. Wilson writes almost daily and sends parcels often. You should write your friend right away. Send a newspaper. Mr. Wilson has said Matthew has written that all the boys are cheered with papers from home. Pass them around after they finish reading them, they do.” 

Edward looked again at his father, who was still not looking at him. “I will do that.” He looked back down at the board; his father had made a mistake. He could put him in check. He moved his queen across the board. “Check.” 

His father started and looked at the board. “I did not see that. Good move, my boy. Well played.” His father studied the board for a few moments before moving his remaining bishop to protect his king. “I forgot to mention it to your mother, Frank Carrington’s wife and daughter came by the office today. They’ve invited us to dine with them on Friday.” 

Edward thought to himself, _Oh, marvelous. Miss New District Attorney’s Daughter. ___Out loud he said, “I’m sure that will be nice. Mother said they have been discussing a possible dance to raise funds. The War Chest Auction was so successful; they have been looking for something to follow it up. I believe she said they are considering a harvest theme for the fall. Perhaps Mrs. Carrington and Violet would be interested in assisting with the plans.” _Violet!_ Yes, that was the girl’s name. Edward was very proud of himself for remembering and laughed to himself, _How could I have forgotten? Mother is so fond of Vi-O-Let LifeSaver candies, no wonder she is partial to the girl. ___

His father’s mind was clearly no longer on their game, and Edward soon had him in checkmate. His father looked at him, possibly for the first time since dinner, and congratulated him on his game. 

Edward smiled as he put the pieces away, “Thank you Father, I had a very good teacher.” 

His father acknowledged the complement; he had been the one to teach his son chess. He had taught his son to catch a ball and to throw... to ride a bike... to drive. He had taught his son pride and respect and duty. Edward, Sr. was very proud of his son. He had hoped Edward would follow in his footsteps and study law, but anyone could see he was meant to be a doctor. He understood his son’s desire to enlist and fight for his country, and he respected him all the more for it. It was himself he was disappointed in. So many people he knew had boys fighting over there. So many of those boys he had known since they were in knickers. Too many of those boys would never return home. Every time he learned of another boy killed, another boy crippled for life, even as he expressed his sympathy, his head was filled with, _Thank God, it’s not my son. Thank God, my boy, my Edward, is safe. ___

Edward Masen, Sr. found that now that he had looked at his son, he could not make himself look away. “Edward – ” 

Putting the chess board and pieces away in the closet when his father called his name, Edward turned to answer him, “Yes, father?” 

He wanted to tell his son not to enlist. He wanted to tell him to leave the fighting to someone else. He wanted to tell him so many things. In the end, he said none of it. “It’s late, son, and I’m tired. I am going to retire for the night.” 

“Good night father, I will see you in the morning. I am going to retire as well.” 

“Good night, Edward.” As Edward, Sr. turned and climbed the stairs tiredly, his only thought was, _God, let this miserable war end soon. ___

Edward entered his room and sat at his desk. He had thought of something else he wanted to tell Mic and wanted to add it to his letter. He opened the hidden compartment, but his letter was not there. Had he not put it there? No, he had. He was sure he had. It was his habit. Always when he wrote letters, he put them there, if he didn’t post them immediately. And he clearly remembered putting it there. Yet, it was not there. Well, he must be mistaken he rationalized; he must have mislaid it. That was all. He looked in all the drawers and on the floor all around his desk, but it was not there. Nor was it in the waste paper basket. He thought it might have slid down behind the desk and was stuck between the desk and the wall, but it was not there either. This was ridiculous. He could not think what he could have done with the letter. 

“Oh well, no matter,” Edward told himself. “It has to be here somewhere.” He would look again tomorrow. 

After all, it was not as if his letter could have vanished. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Bella was lying on her bed, curled up on her side, and staring at the wall. She had stopped crying, but she knew her eyes would still be red and puffy. Stupid cheerleaders. Stupid cheerleaders with their stupid pom poms and their stupid short skirts. Stupid boys who like stupid cheerleaders. Stupid Valentine’s Day. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and looked over at the clock on her night stand. It was 4:12 P. M., which meant she had been lying here for over an hour. This was unlike her. It was ridiculous, she told herself. She was not the type of girl to curl up and cry over a boy. Annoyed with herself and pulling herself together, Bella got up, and looked at herself in her mirror. “Get over it, Bella. He doesn’t like you. You thought he did, but he doesn’t. He is taking Brittney Logan to Mirelli’s on Valentine's Day. Forget him, and get over it. He’s not worth it.” 

Leaving her room, Bella went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face before going to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Her mother, Renee, had meetings after work today but would be home soon, and if she didn’t have dinner started before then, her mother might try to make something, which would not be good. Bella loved her mother, but her cooking was something to be avoided at all costs. After rooting around in the fridge, she decided on tortellini with olive oil and garlic. It would be easy and quick, which was exactly what she needed. After gathering everything she needed and putting the water on to boil, she added some baby spinach and mushrooms to sauté with the garlic, and was just straining the tortellini when her mother pulled in the driveway. 

Bella ducked back into the bathroom quickly to check her eyes. Thankfully, the redness had faded. She really, really did not want to deal with questions as to why she’d been crying. She walked back into the kitchen and said hello to her mother. 

“Hey, baby. How was your day? Did you get your grade back on your history project?” Renee asked as she set her purse and keys down. 

Bella went to the sink to rinse the pasta, keeping her back to her mother; she did not want to have to face her while they talked about the project she'd worked on with Jason. 

“Yeah, got an A.” 

“An A! That’s my girl! Smells wonderful, baby. I asked Phil to join us for dinner. I hope you don’t mind; I should have called. Is there enough for three? He should be here soon. After dinner, how about we go out for ice cream to celebrate your A? Why don’t you call Jason and have him join us?” 

Bella stiffened when her mother mentioned Jason’s name. _Call Jason? Not freakin' likely. ___She needed to get her mother’s mind off Jason, and she knew the best way to do that.

“There’s plenty for three. Can you get the Parmesan from the fridge? So, Phil? You really like him, huh? You seem pretty serious about him. I hope you’re being careful. Are you using protection?”

Her mother had no problem being blunt about safe sex when she warned her to be careful, but Bella knew she could dish it out but not take it, and true to form, her mother was barely able to form a sentence. 

“Bella! That... I... We... You... That's none of your business!” 

_There, mission accomplished. One mother, completely distracted. ___

Bella smirked and turned to face her mother. “It’s very much my business if I end up with a baby brother or sister. A brother might be nice, but I don’t think we could handle another girl in the house. Phil could teach him to play baseball. I'm sure he'd like that.” 

“He would like that. A little boy would be nice. We could buy him a tiny little mitt and a tiny little baseball cap. Tiny little onesies with tiny little baseballs.” 

Bella was shocked to the core at the look that came onto her mother’s face. It was a dreamy, far off look. She felt as if the bones in her legs had suddenly vanished, and she practically fell into the nearest chair. Her mother couldn’t be saying what she thought she was saying. There was just no possible way. Well, of course there was a way, but no, it couldn’t be. She'd had the need to always be careful, to always use protection drilled into her head for so long, Bella was tired of hearing it already. For Pete’s sake, she’d never even had a boyfriend! Her mother couldn’t be pregnant. She couldn’t be. Bella was only sixteen; she had enough to manage with taking care of her mother and school. She could not add a baby to the list. And her mother was thirty-six. Didn’t that mean there would be risks? She didn’t know much about having a baby, but she knew she’d heard the risk of problems increases after thirty-five. 

Bella forced herself to speak but had no idea what to say, “Mom…” 

Renee looked over at her daughter and took in the expression on Bella’s face, which while normally pale had gone bone white. 

“Bella! Baby, what is it? What’s wrong? Do you feel all right?” 

“I… I’m fine. Mom, what… Are you… Are you pregnant?” 

“Pregnant!? Bella, why would you... oh... Oh, honey, no. I’m very definitely not pregnant.” 

Bella slumped against the table in relief. She rambled, “I thought… you said… you said a little boy would be nice, and the look on your face, and the way you said it, and I thought, and you do seem really serious about Phil, and I thought….” 

Her mother pulled a chair over next to her and sat down, taking Bella’s hand in hers. “Bella, honey, I do need to talk to you about Phil. Baby, I love him. I really do. He’s wonderful. He’s kind... and generous... and smart... and funny... and you do like him, don’t you? I know he’s a little younger than me, but honey, he makes me so happy.” 

Bella sat up and looked at her mother. She knew Phil made her happy, but really, _a little younger? ___The man was what? Twenty-three? “Yeah, Mom. I like Phil just fine. You know that. He’s great.”

Her mother looked relieved and took a deep breath; she looked like she was bracing herself for something. “Bella, baby, I asked Phil to come over tonight for a reason.” Another deep breath. “He asked me to marry him, and, sweetheart, I said yes.” 

Through the absolute silence that followed her mother's news, Bella heard a strange ticking sound and realized it was the ticking of the clock on the wall. The _living room ___wall. Married? _Married? ___Her mother wanted to _marry ___Phil. They wanted to get _married. ___This was... unexpected, to say the least. Her scatterbrained, eccentric, free spirit mother wanted to get _married. ___

Bella looked at her mother again, saw the hope in her eyes, and realized her mother was afraid she would not approve. _Of course, _she approved. She was surprised, but she wasn’t upset. Phil really was a great guy, and she knew they loved each other. Besides, Bella was sixteen already; she wouldn’t be here to take care of her mother forever. She jumped up and hugged her mother. “Mom! That’s great! When? When did he ask? How did he ask? Have you set a date? Did he give you a ring?”__

The two were still talking and laughing in the kitchen when Phil pulled up a few minutes later. Bella hugged and congratulated him, and she could see he was relieved she was happy for them too. 

Really, did they think she was going to freak out and try to forbid it or something? 

They sat down to dinner and talked about the wedding. No firm date had been set, but it would have to be after baseball season. Phil was a professional baseball player. He was in the minors, but hoped he’d be called up soon. He wanted Renee to pick out her own ring, and they made plans to go looking soon. They talked about moving, but Renee and Bella really liked their house. It was small but would be big enough for three, so Phil would move in there. 

After they finished eating, her mom and Phil cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. Bella made up an excuse and went to her room to give them a few minutes privacy. She closed the door, but she could still hear them talking and laughing. They sounded so happy together. She looked around her room for something to do for a few minutes. There wasn’t enough time to start her homework, but she could start looking over her Spanish vocabulary for her test tomorrow and finish studying for it when they got back. She sat down on her bed and reached over to her nightstand to get her Spanish notebook. 

Next to the notebook was a picture of her dad. 

_Dad... Oh God, Dad. ___

She was going to have to call her father and tell him her mom was getting remarried. Bella absolutely could not let her mom tell him; she couldn’t do that to him. 

Her mother had left her father while she was still practically a baby. Her parents had met in Seattle, and the two of them were polar opposites in every way. Her dad lived in a small town in Washington called Forks that could not be more different from Phoenix if it was on a different planet. He was a rookie police officer at the time and was attending a training, and her mother had just graduated high school and was in one of her phases. She'd wanted to travel and see the country before starting college. She’d told Bella she’d just closed her eyes and pointed at the map, and when she opened her eyes, she was pointing at Seattle. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance, and within months of meeting they were married. A little over a year later, Bella was born, and about a year after that, her mother left, telling her father that she couldn’t live trapped, stuck in a small town like Forks as she packed hers and Bella’s things. 

Opposites may attract, but a marriage takes more than attraction. 

If Bella was honest, she was really much more like her father than her mother. Her mother was always trying some new hobby, but the hobbies never lasted. There had been pottery, yoga, painting, dance, tennis, and at least a dozen other things. Right now, it was antiquing. That one at least Bella shared some interest in. 

Her father fished. He’d had the same friends all his life and still lived in the same small two bedroom house they'd bought together in the early, naively happy days of their marriage. He ate at the same diner almost every night–probably at the same table–he worked, and he fished. And he watched sports on TV. Any sport would do, but baseball was his favorite. 

Bella loved both her parents, but she understood her father better, even if she only saw him twice a year. She knew he had never gotten over her mother, and this news would be hard on him. Her mother had had several boyfriends over the years, but nothing serious. Until now. 

She could still hear her mother and Phil in the kitchen, and Bella wondered if her mother and father ever sounded like that. She would have to call him as soon as they got back. At least she'd have some time to think of what to say. So lost in thought about her dad was she that she jumped when her mom knocked on her door. 

“Bella, honey, are you ready to go? Harold’s sound good to you?” 

“Yeah, Mom, I’m ready. Harold’s is great.” She grabbed her purse, and with one more look at her dad’s picture, Bella walked out of the room. 

An hour later they arrived back home, and Bella went to her room to make the dreaded phone call. She had watched her mom and Phil at Harold’s and thought about her dad the whole time. Had he looked that happy once? 

Bella sighed. It was getting late, and there was no sense putting it off. It had to be done. 

She couldn’t hear her mom and Phil talking anymore and took that as a pretty good indication she wouldn’t be interrupted any time soon. 

_Oh, Ew... ___

Bella made herself think about the phone call and nothing but the phone call. She got her cell phone out of her purse and dialed her dad’s number, half hoping he wouldn’t answer, but she had no such luck. He picked up on the second ring. 

“Bells? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you till Wednesday. Everything OK?” 

Bella chuckled; she really was just like her dad. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen into a pattern of when she called him. 

“Yeah, Dad, everything is fine. How’s Forks? Anything wild and exciting happening?” 

Her father laughed and answered, “It’s Forks in February, Bells. Goin’ fishin’ with Billy Saturday. It’s going to be sunny. Sunny in Forks is about as wild and exciting as it gets.” 

Bella smiled thinking of Forks. Forks was about as different from Phoenix as her father was from her mother. Phoenix was dry, warm, sunny, and huge. Forks was wet, cold, cloudy, and small. But her dad had been born and raised there, and he knew everyone. She wondered to herself for a moment, _What must that be like? To know literally ___everyone _in town?” ___Bella didn’t even know the names of all the kids in her classes at school, and she wondered briefly if there weren’t actually more kids in her sophomore year than there were at Forks High School.

She visited with her dad twice a year, but a few years ago she put her foot down and insisted they go somewhere else. She felt bad about that now. Her dad was now Chief of Police, but Forks was a small town. He didn’t make a lot of money, and those trips couldn’t have been cheap. Really, she only spent a few weeks a year with her dad..... Was spending it in Forks really so bad?

“Sunny in Forks? You’ll have to cancel your plans. You’ll never get away from work. The station will be swamped with calls from panic stricken residents about a big, shiny thing in the sky. They’ll think it’s a UFO.” 

“Oh ha ha ha. Get into a good college, Bells. You’ll never make it as a comedian.” 

Bella laughed. _Good, ___she thought. _This is going good. Keep it light, break it gently. ___

“I was thinking, Dad, for Easter, why don’t we just stay in Forks? Everywhere is always so crowded around the holidays. Is it too late to change our plans?” 

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. 

“Bella, what’s wrong?” 

Honestly, was it _that ___shocking the she wanted to stay in Forks for Easter? “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. I just thought since neither of us really like crowds, why go somewhere we know is going to be crowded?”

The tone of her father’s voice completely changed; he was now very much Police Chief Swan. “Isabella Marie Swan, you hate Forks. Now tell me what’s wrong. Is it school? Is someone giving you a hard time? Is it a boy? Did someone hurt you? That Jason kid from your history project?” 

He didn’t add, “Because if so, I’ll kill him,” but he didn’t have to. She heard it. 

Bella squeezed her eyes shut. This had been going so well and now it had completely nosedived. She’d wanted to break it to him gently. So much for gently... 

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad, really. I’m fine. School’s fine. The project is done. I got an A. We went to Harold’s for ice cream after dinner to celebrate. Just got back.” 

_And Jason is a jerk. I may just make a little Jason voodoo doll and get some really big pins. I know just where to stick the first one. ___

No need to mention that. 

“You’re sure? You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” 

“Yes, Dad, I’m sure, and yes, I’d tell you if something was wrong.” 

At a sudden mental image of her dad dragging Jason from the lunch room in handcuffs with Brittany Logan crying into her pom poms, Bella cracked up laughing. If only waiting until their project was done and handed in to mention he had a date with the bleached blonde, spray tanned, silicon implanted idiot was a criminal offense. 

“Bella, are you there? Are you all right? You sound like you're crying. Put your mother on the phone.” 

Bella was laughing and gasping for air. “No, Dad... really... I’m fine... I’m not crying, I’m laughing... I just... had a mental picture of you interrogating half the class... Like in those old movies... with the suspect sweating with a light shining on him, and you sitting there with your feet up on the table and cleaning your gun.” 

“You’re sure?” He sounded a little more relaxed now, Bella was glad to note. 

“Yes, Dad, I’m sure.” 

“OK then. You got an A? That’s great, Bells. I’m proud of you. That project was half your grade, right? Given any more thought to what college you want? I’ve got some money saved up, but it’s not much.” 

She interrupted him, “Dad, no. We’ve already talked about this. I’m not taking your retirement money. There are scholarships and grants, and I can work part-time.” 

“Bells, it’s not my retirement money. It’s your college money. I’ve been saving it up since the day we found out your mom was pregnant.” 

Bella had to swallow hard a couple times. Sometimes it was nice to be the one taken care of for a change. She could leave things up to her dad. If she left things up to her mom, she’d be sitting here in the dark because the electric bill never got paid. 

“I’m getting a lot of stuff in the mail, but I still don’t know where I want to go.” Maybe she could look into the University of Washington. She really didn’t like the cold and rain, but Seattle might be cool. Good coffee, anyway. And bookstores... Seattle must have some really cool bookstores. Maybe she could find some good recipes for soup. She did like soup. 

“Well, you're only a sophomore. You’ve got plenty of time. So, how’s your mom? Still seeing that Phil?” 

_Oh, yeah. Definitely still seeing Phil. ___“Mom’s good. She’s still with Phil.” _OK, here goes. ___“Actually, they’re getting married.”

Silence. 

_Oh, crap. ___What was she thinking? Bella could've kicked herself. She should never have just blurted it out like that.

“Your mom’s getting remarried? Oh. Well, that’s good. I’m happy for her. And you? You like the guy, right?” 

“Yeah, Dad. I like him. He’s like a kind of an older brother.” 

_An older brother, not a new, younger dad ___. That was good. She was glad she’d thought of that.

“Well, good then. Listen, Bells, it’s late and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. I better get going. I’ll talk to you Wednesday, 'K?” 

“Yeah, Dad, I better get going, too. I’ve still got homework, and I’ve got a big Spanish test tomorrow.” 

“Good night then, honey. Good luck on the test tomorrow.” 

“Thanks, Dad, good night. Love you.” 

“You, too, Bells. You, too.” 

Bella set her phone down and let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she dialed her dad’s number. That hadn’t gone too badly, but she didn’t like the way her dad's voice sounded after she told him, and he got off the phone really quick. Tomorrow was Tuesday. She knew her dad’s schedule, and today was his early shift. Tuesday he went in at noon. Still, she said to herself, he may have just switched shifts with one of the guys. He did do that sometimes. Maybe she should call Billy, just give him a heads up. Billy Black was one of her dad’s oldest friends. He lived about ten miles away on the Quileute reservation. In the end, Bella decided to give her dad some time and to wait until after she talked to him on Wednesday, see how he sounded then. 

Bella pulled her books out and tried to finish her homework and study for her test, but she had trouble concentrating. She kept thinking about Jason. Just a few hours ago, she was crying over him, but now she found she didn’t really care all that much. Yes, she was upset, but she wasn’t crushed. Honestly, she had really only known him for the few weeks they worked on the project together, and it wasn’t as if he’d asked her out then canceled after the project was done. But still, it'd hurt when he said he’d asked Brittney out for Valentine’s Day. She had really fallen for him fast. He was cute and popular; he was on the baseball team; he was smart and funny, and he was really nice to her. And she had really had thought he liked her. Bella rolled her eyes. Did it have to be Brittney Logan, though? That girl really was an idiot, and Jason was just as good a student as Bella. There was only one reason he’d ask her out, and if that was the head he thought with, she didn’t really want him anyway. 

If this hurt this much, what had her dad felt when her mom left, she wondered? She’d never thought about that before, and it really wasn’t a nice thought. Maybe instead of just two weeks, she could visit for a whole month this summer, and she decided they were definitely staying in Forks. 

“Bella, sweetie, are you still up?” 

“Yeah, Mom, I’m up.” 

Her mother walked in and sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m so happy you're OK with this, honey. It’s just... It’s been just you and me for so long. It’s going to be a big adjustment, having a man around.” 

“We’ll work it out, Mom.” Her mother was looking at her with tears forming in her eyes. Oh, God. She was going to get all emotional on her. “Mom, what’s wrong? You do… You do _wan ___to marry Phil, right? You’re sure?”

Her mother laughed and wiped her eyes. “Oh yes, baby. I’m very sure. I’m not crying about that. Bella, honey, you’re my best friend. I love you so much. Would you be my maid of honor? There’s no one else I’d rather have next to me.” 

Oh great, now she was crying too. Again. But for a much better reason this time. “Mom! Yes, of course. Absolutely!” Bella hugged her mother, and they laughed and cried together while they talked about everything from colors and flowers to cakes... and gowns. 

_Gowns, oh crap, gowns. ___

She was going to have to wear a gown. 

_And heels. Oh crap, crap, crap. ___

Bella only just managed not to cringe. She could walk across a flat surface in sneakers and find something to trip over; put her in heels and she was a danger to others. The picture of her tripping over her own feet and falling into the cake popped into her head, and she decided she was absolutely changing into flats after the ceremony. Phil’s older brother, Andrew, was going to be the best man. He was a big guy, just like Phil. If he couldn’t keep her vertical for the ceremony, no one could. 

Plans were made to go looking for gowns a week from Saturday, and Bella and her mother finally said good night. 

It was now midnight, and Bella curled up on her side and stared at the wall, just like she had earlier. This time she thought about her dad and Phil and smiled. When there were men like them in the world, why waste tears on guys like Jason? As she drifted off to sleep, Bella wondered if she would find the right guy someday, hoping she would. Where was he right now, she wondered? What was he doing right now, right at this very minute?

The next two weeks passed quickly. She did well on her Spanish test, and since her dad had sounded like himself the next time she talked to him, Bella had decided not to call Billy. She'd seen Jason at school a few times, but it was a big school with plenty of stairways and halls; it was easy to change her routes to avoid seeing him. Out of sight, out of mind. It irritated her that even when she went out of her way to avoid him, he'd eventually turn up on her detour route anyway. When she had seen him, she'd sometimes thought he might have been staring at her, but he never made any attempt to speak to her. It reminded her of an old movie from the '80’s she watched with her mom, _The Breakfast Club. ___In the movie the popular kids didn’t forget the unpopular kids they met in detention, but this wasn’t a movie. It was real life, and in real life things like that just don’t happen.

The morning of their appointment came, and as they ate breakfast, Bella and her mother talked about what her mom was looking for, something simple, off white or maybe a very pale pastel, not sparkly, definitely not strapless. And as inexpensive as possible. 

Driving to their appointment, they passed a sign for an estate sale, and Bella hoped her mother was paying too much attention to traffic and the directions from their new GPS's to have seen it. Her mom was in the height of her antiquing phase, and she knew if her mom saw it, they’d be going there. Bella was developing an appreciation for antiques herself, and normally wouldn’t have minded going, but she was rereading one of her favorite books and was looking forward to curling up with it when they got back. Until she found her own Mr. Darcy, she would just have to share with Elizabeth Bennett. 

“Oh, Bella, look! An estate sale! The sign says it’s in Brenton Estates; oh, that’s a very upscale area. I bet they have a lot of beautiful things. We could go after the appointment and then have lunch.”  
Bella repressed a sigh and instead smiled her agreement. Today was her mother’s day; she was a bride shopping for her wedding dress, and whatever her mother wanted to do, they’d do. “Sure, Mom, sounds like fun. How about La Cucina Italiana for lunch?” Mr. Darcy would just have to wait. It wasn't like he was going anywhere, after all. 

Bella supposed she shouldn’t be surprised she was finding she really liked antiquing with her mother. She loved reading about other eras, Jane Austin, Emily Brontë, Charles Dickens. She loved the formality, the etiquette, the elegance, the differences to her world today. At first, she had just tried to learn a little to protect her mom from being taken in and spending more than they could afford on something that was basically worthless, but now she had really come to appreciate antiques in that they had history; they had character. If they could speak, what would they say? What had they seen? What lives had they lived? What she couldn’t understand was why the more mint condition something was, the more it was worth. If you wanted something in perfect condition, go buy something new was her opinion. What history, what character did something have if it was in perfect condition? It hadn’t lived. It had probably been stuck in a corner and never used. 

On the other hand, if something was a mess, you weren’t allowed to fix it up. One antique store she had been to with her mother had an old rocking chair that she’d liked. It was black with flowers painted on the back, and the legs had decorative turnings and flutings. The paint was badly chipped in spots, and there was built up dirt visible even against the black paint. The shopkeeper had seen her looking at it and turned the sales pitch on high, telling her, “Doesn’t it look like your grandmother could have just been sitting in it?” When she told the man that if it had belonged to her grandmother, the first thing she would do was give it a good scrubbing and then have the paint fixed, he'd nearly had a heart attack. “Patina,” he had said. She’d looked right at him and said it wasn’t patina, it was dirty. 

Bella and her mother agreed on their plans for the rest of the day as they arrived at the bridal store and were greeted at the door by their consultant, Abby, whom Bella liked immediately. She was very professional, definitely wanting to make a sale, but not at all pushy about it. She listened to what her mom wanted and stuck to the price range she was given, which Bella was very grateful for. Their budget was limited, and the last thing she wanted was for her mom to fall in love with a dress they couldn't afford. 

Abby pulled several dresses for her mom to try on, and Bella waited by the dais as they both went into the dressing room. That surprised her. It hadn’t occurred to her that her mom would need help with the gown. She knew the ladies in her books always had their maids help them dress, but that was different. They had corsets, petticoats, and God knows what else. This was just a long dress. She waited a few more minutes before the door opened and her mom stepped out with Abby right behind her. 

Bella’s breath caught in her throat at the first sight of her mom in a wedding gown. 

_Holy crap. This is really real. My mom is a real bride! My mom has grown up. ___

She had to actually bite her tongue to prevent the laugh that wanted to escape at that thought. Bella had never gone wedding dress shopping before, but she didn’t think laughing at your first sight of the bride in a gown would go over well. “Oh, Mom. It’s beautiful.” 

“Do you really think so, honey? I don't know. They only have the sample in white, but it comes in ivory, too. What do you think?” 

Abby stood off to the side a little as her mom stood up on the dais in front of the mirrors. “Most of our samples are only in white, but all the ones I pulled can be ordered in off white or ivory. Some are available a very pale pinky peachy blush color. It's a very flattering color with your skin tone and hair. We have swatches of all the colors. What do you think of this one?” 

It was an A-line dress in white satin, very elegant and very simple with no beading or lace. It had one inch wide straps which came down to seamlessly form the V-necked bodice by wrapping one over the other. The asymmetrical waistline had a bow on the side, and the skirt hung full with a short train. Abby showed them the designer’s ivory swatch. 

“What do you think, Bella?” Renee asked.

As she looked up at her mom, Bella could see how much she wanted her approval. “I think it’s beautiful, Mom, but it’s not my dress. What do you think?” 

Her mom was looking at herself in the mirror very skeptically. Didn’t they say when a bride finds her dress, she just knows it immediately? It was a beautiful dress, but judging by the look on her mom’s face, it wasn’t _the ___dress. “I don’t know.” Renee turned a little and looked at the dress from the side. “I don’t like the bow. I don’t know, and I think the neckline is a little too deep. What do you think about the train? I don’t know if I want a train.”

“Mom, you’ve said ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t like’ now four or five times. It’s a beautiful dress, but it’s not your dress.” 

Her mom looked at her and almost looked a little relieved. Did her mom need her approval so much that she didn’t want to say no without it? 

After that first dress, her mother was a little more assertive in what she did or didn’t like in each of the next dresses. Neither of them could believe there could be so many dresses so similar, yet so different. It was like when they went to get paint for her room. Her favorite color was purple. They would go and get purple paint, easy right? Yeah, _not. ___There were at least fifty different purples.

The bridal salon was huge, and Bella was sure it must have over a thousand dresses. She began to worry they'd be there all day, but only six dresses later, her mom and Abby walked back out of the dressing room, and with just one look at her mom’s face, Bella knew immediately they had found the dress. It was similar to the first dress, but the fabric was a much lighter weight, silkier satin with much less sheen. Like the first dress, the bodice was formed by straps that wrapped one over the other, but with this dress the side that wrapped over the other gathered along the side, bowlessly Bella was glad to note, and flowed to seamlessly form the top of the layered skirt, ending in a train that was just barely there. The skirt was not as full as the first, and the bottom layer was beautiful lace with a very slight shimmer over the same fabric as the rest of the dress. It was, in a word, stunning. It was at the top of their price range, but it stayed in budget, and it fit perfectly, so there would be little extra expense for alteration. 

Renee didn’t want a veil, but they all agreed she needed a necklace, so Abby gave them information on a local jewelry store that rented jewelry for special occasions. Bella and her mother shared a glance. Who knew jewelry stores did that? 

Hoping to get out of going to the estate sale so she could get home to her book faster, Bella was just about to suggest heading straight to the jewelry store while the dress was still fresh in their minds, when her mother beat her to it and said how good she felt about finding something special after finding her dress. “It’s our lucky day, Bella. I just know we’re going to find something great.” Bella sighed. Oh well then, so much for that. 

The drive to Brenton Estates wasn’t long. It was an exclusive, secluded community a world away from the strictly middle class area where they lived, but in actual physical distance, it wasn’t far. 

They came to the sign that marked the entrance to the world of The Other Half, and as they made the turn to enter, Bella wondered what all the highbrows must think of all the lowbrows invading their painstakingly manicured world. They found the house where the sale was taking place and parked the car. Bella felt her mouth drop a bit as they approached the house. She used the term “house” lightly; the place was huge and was sitting on a lot that she thought had to be the size of the block she lived on. Judging by the size of the house, their lunch would more likely be dinner, and Bella wished she'd packed a snack in her purse but then thought better of it. She'd probably get crumbs on some inordinately expensive hand woven carpet imported from God knows where. 

A representative of the firm conducting the sale was meeting people at the door as they arrived, and told them the owner of the house, a Mr. Richard Masen, had passed away and the man’s children had hired his firm to conduct the sale. After informing them that if a piece had no price displayed, it was either unavailable for sale or already sold, he quickly ushered them away in a manner that made it clear he had already judged them as being unable to afford anything anyway and just wasting their time and, more importantly, his. Bella was glad her mom was in too good a mood after finding her dress to have noticed his rude dismissal of them, but personally, she wished she could buy something spectacular just to spite him. 

Wandering around the house slowly, Bella and her mother admired everything they saw and enjoyed themselves talking and just browsing. Several representatives of the firm were walking around, mingling through the crowd, answering questions and giving information about the pieces. Bella was glad to see that they were much more personable than the greeter, but of course, she told herself, they probably worked on commission and had to be pleasant if they wanted to get paid. 

Overhearing a woman telling an older couple about some antique jewelry, Renee stopped to listen. 

Bella noticed a painting she recognized and walked over to get a closer look while her mother went off to look at the jewelry. She had studied this artist’s work at school and had done a rendering of this very piece. She had taken art as an elective, and her teacher wanted to introduce them to some lesser known but very good artists. 

Walking over to the painting, Bella tripped on the edge of an area rug and fell against a desk. She rubbed her hip where it had hit against the edge of the desk, positive it would bruise. There was another man in the room with her; she had noticed him before, looking completely lost as he drifted around aimlessly looking at different things, and he came over to ask if she was all right. Assuming he was another of the firm's employees and afraid of a lawsuit if she was hurt, Bella assured him she was fine, and they began talking about the painting. He introduced himself as Michael and told her how impressed he was with her knowledge of the artist, who had been a favorite of the late Mr. Masen. 

As they spoke, Bella noticed the desk she had fallen into. It was beautiful. It had definitely seen better days, but it was still beautiful. She recognized the wood as mahogany. The desk had four drawers on either side and one across the middle, all with brass handles. It had a green leather writing surface covered in ink stains, showing how well used it was. Michael noticed her admiring the desk and told her she had good taste. 

She smiled at him. “Look at the leather; how many letters must have been written here? Were they love letters? Dear John letters? It’s been _used. ___It’s _lived. ___” She trailed her fingers along the stained leather and sighed, “It really is beautiful.”

When Bella told him how she couldn’t understand why antiques were more valuable if they didn’t show their age he laughed, “I’d have to agree with you, Miss… I’m sorry I didn’t get your name.” 

“Oh, sorry, I’m Bella. Bella Swan.” 

He looked at her oddly for a moment before smiling widely. In an instant, his whole face changed; it brightened, and he became animated. He appeared to really enjoy talking to her, and Bella hoped he didn’t work solely on commission, because there was no way could she buy anything. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bella. This desk has been in the Masen family since the end of the Civil War. It was purchased for Richard Masen by his father as a wedding present. Richard Masen was a Major in the Union Army during the Civil War.” 

Bella looked at the desk even more appreciatively. She couldn’t believe how seriously this man took his job. First the painting, now the desk. Had he memorized the history of everything in the house, she wondered? He seemed almost grateful for the chance to talk about the things in the room, and the more he talked, the more he smiled. 

Bella sat at the desk and traced an ink stain with her finger. She looked up at him and said, “Think what this desk has seen. What if it could talk? World Wars, Women’s Suffrage, the Great Depression… Just… everything. Just look at it. 

“I mean, everything here is beautiful, but... just…. Please don’t take this the wrong way… but some of the pieces are… It’s like they’re just for show; there’s no _life ___in them, but this desk, just look how hard it’s been used. You can just _feel ___it. Look at the drawers; you can tell they’ve been opened and closed thousands of times. It’s banged up and the leather is stained. It’s not in pristine or mint condition, but it’s _alive. ___Someone could have sat at this desk and written to a soldier during World War One.”

Michael continued to smile at her and was even laughing a little now. “I happen to know for a fact that someone did do just that. After Richard Masen’s death, the desk passed to his son, Edward. Edward Masen and his family were very involved with both the Red Cross during World War One and with Women’s Suffrage.” 

This was just too much. Bella almost thought he might be making it up as he went, but he looked so sincere, so natural, almost inexplicably happy to have the chance to tell this to someone who was willing to listen. She looked at the desk completely fascinated; she really felt a connection to it. She could feel its life, and that it still wanted to live. She thought of the other, better preserved pieces in the house and smiled, thinking to herself that in the furniture world they would be the cheerleaders, on the sidelines looking pretty but not really doing very much. 

Her mother found her and came up to her. Bella introduced her mother to Michael and repeated all he had told her about the desk. 

Renee knew her daughter usually just humored her when she went along with whatever she was interested in at the moment, but this time she could see it was different. This time, she was really interested. More than once she had seen her daughter stand and stare at a piece of antique furniture with a smile on her face and could almost swear she was talking to the person who had once owned it, as if the years between them were no barrier to her. 

Renee looked at her daughter looking at the desk, the way she was running her fingers along the leather, and thought about the dress she had just bought. Yes, she loved the dress, but she loved her daughter more. “Michael, how much is this desk?” 

“Mom! Excuse us please, Michael.” Bella took her mother’s arm and turned slightly away from Michael. “Mom, are you crazy? You saw the prices on the things here. Even in the condition the desk is in, we could never afford it. It’s _Civil War era ___for Pete’s sake.” She was trying to speak quietly, but she was embarrassed knowing Michael could hear every word anyway. He had been so nice, and she really had enjoyed talking to him. Now, like the man greeting people at the door, he was going to think she’d been just wasting his time.

“Bella, we can afford it. It’ll be your birthday and Christmas presents for this year from both me and your dad. I’m sure he’ll agree...” 

“Mom, no. However much it is, I’m sure it’s way too much.” 

Renee continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “...and when Phil gets called up, he’ll be making a lot more.” 

“ _If ___Phil gets called up, IF. It might not happen, and even if it does, it might be next year or the next year, and I can’t spend money that isn’t mine even if it does come. We don’t have the money.” Renee looked at her daughter and told her that yes, they did have the money.

Bella realized what her mother was saying. “Mom, no. Absolutely not.” 

“Bella, it’s just a dress. I can find a cheaper dress.” 

“Mom, it’s not just a dress! It’s your wedding gown.” 

“Which I will have on for what, five or six hours? You will have the desk for the rest of your life. As long as I end up married to Phil at the end of the day, that’s all I really want; that’s all that really matters. The rest just isn’t as important as we make it out to be.” 

Michael tried to give the two ladies their privacy, but he could clearly hear them talking. He cleared his throat and interrupted them, “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan, but this desk isn’t for sale.” 

Renee was disappointed, but Bella was shocked. She hadn't noticed a price on it, but then, she hadn't looked for one. If he hadn't been trying to sell her the desk, why had he wasted so much of his time telling her all about it? Yeah, she had enjoyed talking to him, but he was working. He had a job to do. 

“Please allow me to explain and introduce myself fully. My name is Michael Masen. This was my father’s house. He died very suddenly. He was 74, but he was very healthy, very strong. He had an aneurism and died very quickly; it was only a matter of hours. My brother, sister, and I all live in Chicago, and we weren’t able to make it to the hospital in time to say good-bye. 

“Thank you, Bella. Meeting you and talking with you these few minutes has….” He laughed and ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head and looking almost bewildered. “Meeting you has…. has made me feel a… a whole new appreciation for my family. More than you can know. The painting was one of my father’s favorite possessions, and my sister will be taking it. But the desk... We didn’t want to sell it. It’s been in our family for so long, you see, but no one in the family needs or really has the room for it. We all have several pieces that have been in the family for generations already. We’re really a bunch of pack-rats, I guess.” He paused and laughed again. “We don’t want to sell the desk, but I would like to give it to you. It came into the family as a gift; it seems fitting that it leave the family as a gift.” 

Bella and her mother were silent for a moment and then both tried to talk at once. Renee won. “Mr. Masen, that’s very kind of you, but we couldn’t possibly accept.” 

Michael wouldn’t accept no for an answer. “Please, I insist, and we Masens are very stubborn. We’ve been torn up about what to do with it. As I said, no one really has room for it. It would end up in an attic somewhere collecting dust. Now, are you able to take it with you now, or will you need to come back for it? Or, if you prefer, I can arrange to have it delivered.” 

Bella and her mother both continued to try to refuse, but every argument they made he had an answer for, almost as if he had planned for them in advance. He was so insistent, that in the end they gave in and accepted, thanking him repeatedly. 

Phil had already started spring training but didn’t have practice on the weekends, and he had a large pickup truck the desk would fit in easily. Renee called him, and they continued talking while they waited for him to arrive. He brought a couple of his teammates, and Bella introduced them to Michael. The men talked baseball for a few minutes–Michael and his family are all big White Sox fans–and soon he was laughing and sharing stories from his own college playing days. 

Bella thanked him again as Phil and his friends loaded the desk onto the truck. Michael walked them to their car, and as Bella got in, he leaned in to tell her something. “I’ll tell you a little family secret. There have been more than just letters to World War One soldiers written at that desk. I happen to know there were quite a few love letters as well. It has a secret, hidden compartment, but I’m not going to tell you where it is, or how to open it. You’ll have to find it yourself. Good luck with that. Enjoy the hunt.” 

Bella looked at him. He was smiling and laughing to the point that his face was turning red. She would not have recognized him as the solemn, lost looking man she remembered first seeing. They said good bye, and Bella and Renee thanked him again. 

“No, please believe me, Bella, that desk has always belonged to you. We’ve just been holding onto it for you until you could come for it. Now, it will live again.” 

Michael watched them drive away and bent over holding his stomach as he laughed. Once he caught his breath, he pulled out his cell phone and called his sister. “Sue? It’s Mic. Listen, you are never going to believe what just happened….” 

Their mother/daughter lunch at La Cucina Italiana turned into a couple large pizzas at home shared with Phil’s teammates as a thank you for helping them, and the men were just setting the desk by the window in Bella’s room when she and her mom arrived home with the pizzas. 

They all sat around the small kitchen with Phil’s friends teasing Renee and Bella that they could wrap any man around their little finger. “First Phil here, now total strangers giving away family heirlooms. Ah, the poor men who fell before the Swan women; they never stood a chance.” 

Everyone laughed, and Phil hugged Renee close to him. “Hey, Scott, who was it who gave up part of his Saturday to move furniture for the Swan women?” 

Phil’s teammate raised a slice of pizza in salute to Renee and Bella. “Ah, yes. But for Swan women with pizza. Bribe a man with pizza, Bella, and he’ll be putty in your hands. Remember that.” 

Bella laughed and dropped her head in mock embarrassment. “Pizza? So, that’s the secret? I’ll have to remember that.” 

After they ate, Phil and his friends headed out to the batting cages. There was no such thing as a day off when you were working to get called up to the majors. 

Bella started to help her mother clean up the kitchen a bit after they left, but Renee stopped her. “Bella, go. I can tell your dying to go to your room. Go. There’s not much here. I’ll take care of it.” 

Bella didn’t realize how anxious she was to go check out the desk and look for the hidden compartment Michael told her about until her mom mentioned it, and she nearly squealed in excitement. She realized now he'd made sure her mother didn’t hear him tell her about it, and she was even more grateful to him. 

_A secret compartment. How freakin' cool is that? Maybe I’ll find one of those love letters he mentioned. That was an odd comment though; the desk has always belonged to me? ___

Hours later, Bella sat cross-legged on her floor completely frustrated. She had taken all the drawers out and put them back in four times. She'd felt carefully all along each one, inside and out, each time but found nothing. She had crawled all around the desk on her hands and knees, feeling, poking, and knocking on every square inch three times but had again found nothing. Finally, she got a tape measure and measured the depth, width, and length of each drawer. All were the same. That is, the top four were the same, and the bottom two were the same. What had looked like eight drawers was really six, the bottom two on each side were actually one deep drawer that looked like two. The handles were all secure and identical; none of them moved up or down, turned, pulled out, or had any kind of button hidden in them. 

As Bella sat staring at the desk studying it, trying to find something that didn’t match, something that was different from one side to the other, she began to wonder if Michael was a sadist. 

At one point, Bella realized the desk sat flush up against her wall, and she got excited thinking maybe there was something hidden on the back side of the desk. Hadn’t that been fun? It had taken her forever just to get the desk moved out far enough to get behind it, only to find a whole lot more nothing. She had just gotten it back in place, and she was exhausted. Maybe they should’ve brought something better than pizza home for the guys; this thing weighed a ton. 

Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she said to herself, “OK, Bella. Don’t give up. It’s here. Once more with the drawers.” With that little pep talk, she pulled herself up and took the drawers out again. When she again didn’t find anything, she considered giving up, at least for now. Actually, she considered screaming and stamping her feet and then giving up for now. 

_Really, what did they hide in here? State secrets? Were the Masens freakin' spies or something? ___

Bella started to put the drawers back in again, but one didn’t fit. One Did Not Fit. She actually laughed out loud. She’d found it. The Drawer Did Not Fit! The drawers weren’t all the same. This had to be it. She lined the top four drawers across the top of the desk and measured again, not the depth, but the height of the sides from the outside. The sides of one drawer were taller than the other three. The depths were all the same, but one was taller. It had a thicker bottom. 

_This is it! This is really it! ___

She grabbed the drawer and did a celebratory happy dance around her room singing, “Go, Bella. You found it. You’re the greatest. Go, Bella. You found it. You’re the greatest. Go, Bella.” She stubbed her toe once, but she was so happy to have found the hidden compartment she didn’t care, and was laughing like she was possessed. She quickly put the other drawers back in and sat down on her bed with the top left drawer, excited to open the hidden compartment. 

_Oh. Right. Open it. ___

She had found it, but she still didn’t know how to open the damn thing. 

_Crap. Talk about having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. OK. Well, finding it had to be harder than finding out how to open it. Right?_

She didn’t have to search the whole desk, just this drawer. It had to be easier. 

_It has to be easier. It has to be easier. It has to be easier. _Bella kept telling herself that, like a mantra. Mind over matter. The power of positive thinking.__

“Bella? Honey, you OK? Can I come in?” 

So focused on studying the drawer was she that Bella nearly screamed out loud when her mother quietly knocked on her door. “I’m fine, Mom. Just… hanging around. Studying.” She jumped up and shoved the drawer back in, pinching her finger in the process. “Ow, ow, ow!” 

“Bella? Baby, what’s wrong?” 

“Of course, you can come in, Mom. Nothing’s wrong. Pinched my finger in the drawer.” 

She was sucking her sore finger and quickly grabbed a book with her other hand as her mother came in. “Are you OK? Is it bleeding? I’ll get the first aid kit.” First aid kits in hospitals didn’t get as much use as theirs did. 

“No, Mom, it’s fine. What’s up?” 

Renee sat down on the bed, and Bella leaned against the desk. She laughed to herself as she realized she was leaning against The Drawer, like she was trying to hide a guilty secret. 

“Nothing, just wanted to check on you. You’ve been in here a long time. I thought maybe you fell asleep.” 

Renee looked at the book in her hand and asked what she was studying. Bella looked quickly at the book. She could hardly say she was studying a drawer. “Oh, just biology, we have a lab on the stages of mitosis coming up.” She was glad she had grabbed her biology book; if there was one subject she could guarantee her mother would not ask questions about, it was any kind of science. 

“I thought we’d just heat up the leftover Chinese from last night; you made plenty. Sound good?” 

Bella hadn’t realized how hungry she was until her mother mentioned food. “Yeah, sounds fine. Is Phil coming?” 

Renee laughed. “He just called and said he’d be a while. The guys taped themselves at the batting cage, and they’re analyzing their batting stanzas. Or something like that.” 

Bella laughed with her mother. “In other words, don’t expect him anytime soon.” 

Renee stood up and they walked out of the room. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were still at it tomorrow morning.” 

Bella and Renee talked and watched a movie as they ate. She'd always enjoyed spending time with her mother, but tonight she really just wanted to get back to her room. After about two hours, Phil came back, and she was able to say goodnight without any questions about going to bed so early. 

She got back to her room charged up and ready to go and pulled the drawer out. She had been thinking since she left her room for dinner, and she had an idea. The secret compartment was hidden inside the drawer on the bottom, so however you opened it, she reasoned, it wouldn’t be likely to also be on the inside the drawer. Anyway, it was perfectly smooth, as were the sides. She couldn’t see any way anything could be hidden there. Same for the back of the drawer, and she had already looked at the front. The only place she could think of would be the runners underneath where it slid along the tracks in the desk. She turned the drawer upside down on her bed and looked at the runners carefully through a magnifying glass. She started on the left side and worked her way from the front to the back.

_YES! There it is!_

All the way at the back, there was a tiny button. Excited, Bella stretched out a paper clip and used it to push the button. Nothing happened. It was so anticlimactic she almost growled in frustration. She took a deep breath and mumbled to herself. “OK. Could it be stuck?” She hoped not, because if it was, she had no idea how to get it open. 

_What else could it be? Think of things that open with some kind of a button. The door on the microwave. What else? The handle on the screen door has a button. My suitcase has latches; they’re kind of like buttons. Wait. Latches. Plural. Buttons. Are there two buttons? It makes sense. There are two runners; there could be two buttons. ___

Grabbing the magnifying glass, Bella looked at the runner on the right. “YES! There it is.” She couldn’t find the paper clip for a moment and then with a triumphant cry pressed the second button. There was a soft click. 

_YES! YES, YES, YES! YESYESYESYESYES! This is so cool! I found it! I got it opened ___

Bella laughed and punched her fist in the air, then got up and did another happy dance. She went back to her bed, anxious to see it. 

_How big is it? The whole bottom of the drawer or only part of it? How deep? What am I going to put in there? ___

She’d never kept a diary or anything like that. It would be a good place to keep jewelry, not that she had any. What had been kept in there over the past nearly one hundred and fifty years, she wondered? She turned the drawer right side up and looked. The drawer’s false bottom was the top of the compartment; it was hinged in the front. 

Bella opened it fully and couldn’t believe her eyes when she looked inside. There was a letter. Someone must have put it there and forgotten about it. 

_This is so cool! A love letter! I bet it’s one of the love letters Mr. Masen mentioned! ___

She picked it up carefully. She could tell it was really old, but it didn’t look fragile. It looked like it could’ve been written yesterday, but it was clearly written with a fountain pen. A fountain pen! She almost felt guilty, but she had read to it. 

 

Chicago, Ill  
June 24, 1918

Dear Cousin,

I hope this letter finds you well... I fear not much here has changed since...  
...my intention to enlist as soon as I am able...  
....having only just turned 17....

_Well, not a love letter, but, wow, he had wanted to enlist. To serve in World War One. World War One! I studied World War One. It's history to me, but it was today to him when he wrote this. They called it the Great War, the War to End All Wars. Man, were they ever wrong. ___

_His mother was just as worried for him as mothers are today for their sons and daughters fighting in the war. She must’ve been a resourceful woman, get him a girl and he’ll stay, clever.... I wonder if it worked? ___

...silly, foolish things... ...To hope for her to have an original or clever thought in her head?...  
...all pretty faces and empty heads...  
...Miss Assistant District Attorney’s Daughter ...  
...really must remember her name first.... 

_Hmphh. What an ass. He can’t even remember her name, but she’s empty headed, silly and foolish? Hypocrite. I doubt he’d look twice at a girl if she wasn’t pretty, no matter how smart she was._  
__  
...assisting my mother in her volunteer work with the Red Cross and at the hospital...”

_OK, maybe he’s not all bad. ___

....War Chest auction....  
...netted $2050....

_$2050? Really? Wow. How much is that now? ___

...White Sox game on my birthday...

_Baseball? Seriously? What is it with men and baseball? ___

...unlikely my father will have much time for baseball in the coming months....  
...arrested four people....  
...over one hundred waiters were taken into custody...  
...poisoning drinks of people who tipped poorly...

_They poisoned people for tipping poorly?! ___

...I hope you are all well and happy. I remain,

Your Cousin,

Edward Masen

Wow. Well, she had wondered what the desk would say if it could talk. Now, she knew. Bella must have read the letter through dozens of times. Initially, she was offended at his description of the girls, but she had to be fair. He had never meant for anyone but his cousin to see this letter, and really, everyone had to vent at some time. For all she knew, they could have been the Brittney Logan’s of his time. 

Out of the entire letter, one phrase stuck in her mind.

“...my intention to become a doctor after the war...”

_I wonder if he did. ___

At least, she was sure he would have had an “after the war”. 

The letter was dated June 24, 1918, and he had just turned 17. She remembered studying WW1; it ended on November 11, 1918. The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. It became Armistice Day and then later Veteran’s Day. The war would be over in just five more months, well before he turned eighteen. She knew over one hundred thousand American soldiers died during WW1. 

_At least he wasn’t one of them. What happened to his cousin? Did he enlist? ___

There was no indication in the letter about what his cousin's plans were. 

The letter was flat; it had never been folded, so she didn’t think it was ever mailed. 

_Why not? Who had put it in the desk? Michael’s father? Was this Edward his grandfather? ___

He had told her the original owner of the desk had a son named Edward, and it had gone to him after his father’s death. She began wondering out loud, “This Edward would have been too young to be his son. His grandson probably?” She read the letter through again. “His poor mother. It must have horrible, worrying about him.” 

Bella had been told many times about her Great Great Aunt Margaret. Margaret Nash had been a nurse during WWII in the Navy and was taken prisoner by the Japanese. She’d spent nearly four years as a prisoner of war in the Philippines. Her parents didn’t know if she was dead or alive until a photo of her standing over a Japanese patient in a hospital bed was found. 

It was a story Bella had known as long as she could remember but had never really thought about. Now, she did. She thought what hell that must have been for her family, the not knowing. Not knowing had to be unbearable. 

She looked at the letter again, wishing there was some way she could let Edward’s mother know her son would be safe. 

She felt incredibly silly, but she grabbed her pen, ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook, and began writing. 

_Dear Edward, ___

_I found your letter in the desk. Your mother will be glad to know you won’t be seeing battle in this war. It will be over soon, long before you’re 18. An armistice will be signed on November 11th and all fighting will stop at 11:00 A.M. that morning. The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. It will become known as Armistice Day and then, eventually, Veteran’s Day. ___

_Become a doctor. Consider it your duty to care for those who fought. ___

_Also, you may want to reconsider insulting the intelligence of someone whose name you cannot even remember. Some may see that as arrogant or hypocritical. ___

_Sincerely Yours, ___

_Bella Swan ___

Bella looked at the letter she had just written and shook her head. She had just written a letter to a man who’s been dead for decades. And reprimanded him. “Funny Farm, here I come.” She put the letter she wrote in the compartment and the letter from Edward in the drawer itself. 

She knew she should really give Edward’s letter to Michael. If someone had a letter her grandfather had written, she’d want it, but she didn’t think she could bring herself to give it up.

She went to tell her mother goodnight and got ready for bed. Before getting into bed, Bella looked out her window up at the moon wondering what had become of Edward Masen.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **** There are some brief but somewhat graphic descriptions of combat during WW1, which are real accounts of soldiers during the war. ****
> 
> Of the early chapters, this is my favorite. It's when it really started to be fun to write. Edward finds... Elizabeth sets up a small test for Carlisle which he.... 
> 
> I gave Edward an extensive group of family and friends because I really wanted to show how much he will lose when he's changed. It's easy to forget that, althougth I know who they all are, no one else does. I hope I did a good enough job of explaining who they are when I introduce them in the story. If not, please feel free to review and let me have it. The most important are:
> 
> Maggie and Nellie – the Masens' maid and cook, respectively. Maggie has been with Edward's family since before his parents were married, and Nellie is her niece. She is only a few years older than Edward.
> 
> Mr. and Mrs. Frank Carrington – New attorney working with Edward, Sr., his wife and daughter, Violet. Violet becomes part of Edward's circle of friends, the rest of whom are -
> 
> Joe Watson, Will Collins, Irene and Lillian Stevenson. Irene and Lillian, have a younger sister, Anna, who is in love with Edward.
> 
> Edward's extended family are: His father's brothers and their families, Richard (Josephine, sons Richard - d. 1901 and Timothy) and Michael (Louise, children Mic, Laura, and Tommy)
> 
> His mother's siblings, their spouses, and children:
> 
> Mary 30 (would be 44) Walter 39 - Anna 9, Walter 7, Rose 6: all dead 1903
> 
> George Johnson 41 - Unmarried
> 
> Sarah (Edith's twin) 39- Henry 42 - Clara 19 - Margaret 16 - Henry 11 - Bernard - 9
> 
> Edith (“Edie”, Sarah's twin) 39 - Hubert 44 - Hugh 20 - Martha 17 - Stephen - 15 - Dorothy 11
> 
> Charles Johnson 37 - Grace 30 - Kitty 7 - Charlie 6 
> 
> The family members who have died are mentioned for a reason.

              A loud crash of thunder jolted Edward out of a deep sleep and had him sitting bolt upright in bed in an instant.  The storm that had been threatening last night was still in full force.  A very large, very old oak tree stood in front of his bedroom window, and he could hear the wind whipping through the branches.  He had hated that sound as a child.

 

             When he was about six years old, an older cousin had thought it was funny to scare him, telling him that during thunderstorms, there were monsters in the tree outside his window trying to get in to eat him.  Timothy had told him the monsters waited until there were thunderstorms to eat little boys because the thunder hid their screams.  He'd been so afraid, he’d crawled under his bed with his pillow.  The next morning, his mother came into his room and after not finding him in bed, had searched the house for him.  When she couldn’t find him, she'd enlisted the help of their servants, Maggie and Kathleen, and together, the three women searched the house but still couldn’t find him.  His mother had been nearly hysterical by the time he'd walked down the stairs, dragging his pillow behind him and rubbing his eyes with a pudgy little fist, asking if the monsters were gone from the tree.  He still remembered the look of fury on his mother’s face when he'd looked up at her with sleepy eyes and said, “But, Timothy said.” 

 

            As he grew, he'd learned that Timothy had quite the reputation in the family for pulling pranks and getting in trouble.  Sitting in bed, Edward smiled to himself.  He had paid Timothy back many times over through the years.  Edward had the reputation of “that nice boy,” compared to Timothy’s “that little hooligan,” and he took advantage of that, taking great delight over the years getting Timothy in trouble.  No one had ever suspected him of a thing. 

 

            A sudden flash of lightning lit up his room bringing him back to the present, and Edward looked over at his clock but couldn't make out the time in the dark.  He reached over to his bedside table and turned on the electric light.  6:18 A. M.  Wishing he could sleep another couple of hours, Edward lay back down and pulled the sheets up over his face.  He'd had the oddest dream last night, but as was usually the case, the more he tried to remember it, the faster it faded away.  Clouds?  Something about clouds, he thought.  Flying above the clouds...  It had been a good dream, odd, but good, and Edward wished he could remember more of it, but it was useless.  It was gone. 

 

            Groaning, Edward rubbed his eyes.  It was still early morning, and it was hot already.  The rain had not cooled it down at all; it had only succeeded in making the air even more unbearably muggy than it had been before. 

 

            Allowing himself to lie there for a few minutes more deciding if he wanted to try for a little more sleep, or if he should give it up as a lost cause, Edward smiled to himself, still trying to remember his dream about flying above the clouds.  They were using aeroplanes in the war.  What must it be like to fly in one of those, he often wondered. 

 

            His mother wanted to be at the hospital early, but the storm was making him think perhaps they should arrive earlier still.  There were seemingly countless men who had returned home from the war disfigured and crippled, and Lord knew there would undoubtedly be countless more to come before this nightmare was over, but there were also those whose suffering was psychological.  Men who returned from the war physically unharmed but suffering terribly from crippling neurosis caused by the horrors they had lived through, and those were the ones Edward was there to help. 

 

            The symptoms could be as varied as the traumas of the war which had caused them.  In some cases, there was full physical paralysis and in others it was partial; in some it was purely mental, although no less debilitating to the sufferer.  They called it shell shock, and Edward didn't think he'd ever seen anything more devastating.  The doctors at the hospital had explained to him that those who suffered from shell shock were repressing traumatic experiences they'd endured during the war.  It was as if although their bodies had returned home safely, their minds were still trapped in the horrors of the trenches.  There were some – his mind’s eye pictured one man in particular, a young man named Peter Lord only a few years older than himself – who Edward feared would never be freed from the constant torment.  It was these men he was thinking of now and worrying how the loud thunder and flashing lightning would affect them.  They must have passed a terrible night. 

 

            Dr. Cullen had told him of a British psychiatrist named W. H. Rivers, who had presented a paper in December to the Section of Psychiatry at the Royal School of Medicine.  Dr. Rivers' paper outlined the treatment of the neuroses arising from modern warfare and was published in February in _The Lancet._   Dr. Cullen was pleased with his interest in the subject and had lent him the journal to read.

 

            The medical world was struggling with the concept of shell shock, but Dr. Rivers' approach was beginning to win praise, and Dr. Cullen, along with a local psychiatrist named George Baxley, had been instrumental in bringing the revolutionary new treatment to Chicago. 

 

            Until recently, the advice usually given to those afflicted was to endeavor to banish all thoughts of the war from their minds, as if the task was a simple one, a matter of merely turning the nightmares   off as one would switch off a lamp.  Doctors instructed their patients to direct their thoughts to more pleasant experiences, with some going so far as to strictly forbid them from any discussion about the war.  Dr. Cullen had explained to him that, to a certain extent, that advice was perfectly sound, “Endless inquiries about a man’s experiences during the war could be very detrimental, being constant reminders of painful memories.  However, while it is one thing that those who are suffering from the shocks and strains of warfare should dwell continually on their war experience or be subjected to importunate inquiries, it is quite another to attempt to banish such experience from their minds altogether.”  

 

            All thoughts of staying in bed were now gone from his mind, and Edward rose, intending to review Dr. Rivers' article once more before hurriedly dressing and joining his parents for breakfast.  Several minutes later, when his mother knocked on his door, he was seated at his desk rereading Dr. Rivers' account of a young officer who had been sent home from France after being wounded as he was struggling to free himself from a mass of earth in which he had been partially buried after a shell blast. 

 

            “Come in, Mother.”  

 

            “Good morning, my love.  I was surprised to see your light on.  I did not expect you to be awake.  Are you on the lookout for cousin Timothy’s thunderstorm monsters?”

 

            Edward laughed at his mother’s comment and told her he had been thinking of just that when he first woke. 

 

            Elizabeth Masen smiled at her son, shaking her head. “Ah, cousin Timothy.  Well, he’s turned out not too badly, I suppose, though one did worry for a time.  Your aunt writes that he is doing very well for himself at the bank.” 

 

            Edward could not fathom working in a bank.  The monotony of the same thing day in and day out, with nothing new, nothing challenging, nothing exciting or interesting, would be intolerable to him.  “I think banking would be rather boring, don’t you?  No challenge, just numbers and paper day after day.”

 

            “True.  However, not everyone shares your desire for a challenge, Edward.  What to you would be boring suits some people.” 

 

            Edward closed the journal and agreed with his mother, “Yes, I suppose you are right.”  He then laughed and added, “I suppose boring suits Timothy quite well.” 

 

            Elizabeth tried to look stern but could not quite keep the smile off her face.  She had always felt it was shameful of her, but she could not honestly say she cared at all for her husband’s elder brother, Richard, or his wife and son.  They were always much too proud, in her opinion.  Fortunately, her brother-in-law had accepted a new position at the bank three years ago, and they had moved to Philadelphia, leaving little but the most perfunctory involvement between the two families.  

 

            Richard Masen had never approved of his brother’s marrying her; he didn’t feel she was nearly good enough to marry a Masen, and he made no bones about it.  Her husband had felt the insult to her deeply, much more so than she, herself, ever had, and the brothers had not spoken for years afterward.  It was not until the illness of their mother that they reconciled.  Even so, their relationship could only be called tenuous at best.

 

            Their son, Timothy, used to torment Edward terribly when they were boys, and as always, Elizabeth laughed to herself as she thought of all the ways her son had gotten his revenge on his cousin.  As a young child, Edward had been very small for his age, the result, she'd always suspected, of his having been born too early, and he had been an easy mark for the older boy.  But her son was by far the more clever of the two and had quickly learned to outsmart his cousin.

 

            Edward was relieved to see his mother happy; she so rarely was as of late.  “I am pleased to see you smiling and laughing, Mother.  What has you so happy this morning?” 

 

            “I was just remembering how mad your aunt was about the frog in her hat box.” 

 

            The comment surprised Edward; it had been the last thing he would have expected her to say.  As he rose from his desk and replaced the journal in the book case with the rest of his books, he remembered the incident.  The hat box had contained his aunt’s new hat, which she had purchased specifically to wear to the theater that very night.  Ah, yes, that was one of his favorites.  He kept his back to his mother as he smiled to himself, suddenly pleased as punch at the childhood memory.  “Yes, well, Timothy always was a bold child.” 

 

            His mother agreed with him and decided to let him know she had been on to him the whole time.  “Yes, he was.  He used to torment you terribly when you were small.  I must say, it was a pleasure watching you exact your revenge over the years.” 

 

            Edward was glad he had already replaced the journal on the shelf because the shock of what his mother had just said would surely have made him drop it.  The self-satisfied smile wiped from his face, he turned quickly to face her.  “What… I… Mother, I, I… I am sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

 

            Elizabeth arched her eyebrow knowingly and smiled, looking up at her son.  It still surprised her to have to look up at him.  It was hard to believe the young man in front of her and the tiny baby she had held in her arms seventeen years ago were one and the same.  The doctors had told them to prepare themselves for the worst, but his lungs had been strong, and her Edward had shown them all.  Even then, he had been a fighter.  Now, he had grown so tall; he was over six feet.  It may have been petty, but her smile grew wider still.  He was easily four inches taller than Timothy and much handsomer.  “Edward, I am your mother.  You cannot fool me.”   

 

            “Fool you about what, Mother?” 

 

            “The frog in the hat box, among other things.”  Edward was stunned at the conspiratorial gleam in his mother’s eye.  She had known the whole time, and she had approved.  He did not know what to say.  “Yes, Well…” 

 

            Primly, Elizabeth Masen smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her skirt and lifted smiling eyes to her son.  “Personally, I have always felt Josephine should have been grateful.  That hat was atrocious.  I do not know what she was thinking when she bought it.  The frog could only have improved it.”

 

            There were times Edward was truly grateful to be his mother’s son, and this was one of those times. 

 

            A particularly loud boom of thunder was followed almost immediately by a blindingly bright flash of lightning, and his mother changed the subject to more serious subjects.  “I did have a purpose for speaking to you other than hats and frogs, Edward.  I have been thinking of Peter Lord and the other patients at the hospital.  I am afraid this storm must be difficult for them.  The thunder is so loud, I am sure even in a building as large as the hospital it could be heard.  You know how sudden, loud noises affect them.  I am afraid they will be terribly upset today; perhaps we should arrive at the hospital earlier.  Your father needs to be at the office early to prepare a case for trial.  Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?  If so, he can drop us at the hospital on his way.  I do not care for the idea of taking the 'L' in this weather.”           

 

            Edward agreed, “Yes, I was thinking the same thing.  I was just reviewing an article in _The Lancet_ about just that.  I will dress and be down shortly.” 

 

            Edward finished dressing as quickly as possible and was combing pomade through his unruly hair when he remembered the letter to his cousin, Mic.  He didn’t have much time to look for it, but how long could it take?  It had to be in his desk.  Sitting down at his desk, he opened the hidden compartment once again. 

 

            His letter was right there, right where he'd left it.  Thinking to himself, _I must be blind,_ Edward picked up the letter and got the shock of his life.  It _wasn’t_ his letter.  There _was_ a letter there, but it wasn’t _his_ letter.  This wasn’t possible.  Edward thought for a moment that perhaps he had fallen back to sleep and was dreaming.  Last night, he'd put his letter in his desk, but then it was gone.  There had been nothing there at all, but now there was this.  Was someone playing a trick on him?  But how?  It wasn’t possible.  Did he believe someone had broken into the house while they were at dinner, stolen nothing but his letter and left, broken back in while they slept – during the storm no less – and put this letter in his desk while he slept in the same room?  It was ludicrous.  He stared at the letter for a few minutes before realizing it was addressed to him.

 

_Dear Edward,_

_I found your letter in the desk.  Your mother will be glad to know, you won’t be seeing battle in this war.  It will be over soon, long before you’re 18.  An armistice will be signed on November 11 th,  and all fighting will stop at 11:00 A.M. that morning.  The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.  It will become known as Armistice Day, and then eventually Veteran’s Day.  _

_Become a doctor.  Consider it your duty to care for those who fought._

_Also, you may want to reconsider insulting the intelligence of someone whose name you cannot even remember.  Some may see that as arrogant or hypocritical._

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Bella Swan_

 

            Breathing heavily, Edward sat with his head in his hands, staring at the letter; he was so shocked, he could not form a coherent thought.  This was impossible, unbelievable, and again he wondered briefly if he was dreaming.  He had a very logical mind, but there was no logical explanation for this.  His mind raced.  His letter was gone, and in its place was a letter, addressed to him, from someone he had never heard of, who said she had found his letter in his desk–his desk, which was in his bedroom, where it belonged, at that very moment.  He wasn’t dreaming; he was cracking up. 

 

            Edward did not know which was more impossible, the fact that this letter lay in the hidden compartment of his desk, where no one could possibly have put it, or what it said.  The war would be over in less than five months?  It was too much to hope for.

 

            Whoever had written this had read his letter and knew of his plan to enlist and his mother’s worry for him.  Whoever had written this had also read what he had written about Violet Carrington and the others, and had reproached him for it.  He had not been at all complimentary.  Not at all complimentary?  He had been horribly rude.  Edward squeezed his eyes shut and groaned loudly as his stomach churned.  If whoever had taken his letter showed it to anyone…..  He couldn’t bear to think of it. 

 

            What was he going to do?  Edward stood up and was pacing in his room in growing agitation when there was a knock on his door, and he stood there for a moment staring at the door, almost afraid to open it.  This was ridiculous, he said to himself.  He was afraid to open his bedroom door.  Did he expect this Bella Swan to be there?  He opened the door and their maid, Maggie, was standing there.

 

            “Mr. Edward, breakfast is...  Mr. Edward?  What is it?  Are you ill?  Truly, my dear boy, you look all done in.” 

 

            Maggie Keane had been with his father's family since before his parents' marriage.  She was nearing fifty now, he supposed.  She had come from Ireland with her late husband about twenty-five years ago and had been with his father’s family ever since, working first for his grandparents.  She was fiercely loyal and protective of his family, and he knew if she suspected he was becoming ill, his mother would be informed immediately.   He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before speaking. “No, Maggie, I… I am fine, just, just…. concerned… for some men at the hospital.” 

 

            Grayish blue eyes narrowed as she appraised him.  She wasn’t convinced, and Edward held his breath as she studied his face.  At length, her head nodded slightly, and she spoke, “Breakfast is served, sir.  Eggs and sausages and toast.  You make sure you eat up, young man; Nellie did not make it for it to be wasted, and there are starving orphans in France who would be glad of it.  Your parents are waiting for you.” 

 

            “Right, yes, of course.  Thank you, Maggie.  I am sure all I need is some breakfast.  Please tell my parents I will be right down.”  The words were spoken in such a rush as he released the breath he'd held in, Edward was sure for a moment that he had given himself away, but Maggie’s only indication she had noticed his rushed speech was a slight humming as she nodded at him again.  Edward knew what that humming indicated; she would be watching him.  He closed the door and fell back against it, breathing deeply.  His legs felt weak.  “OK, think about this rationally.” 

 

_Rationally.  Think about the irrational rationally._

 

“Whoever this Bella Swan is, she doesn’t sound threatening.”  If he had to describe the tone of the letter, he would have to say reassuring, consoling. 

 

_...Your mother will be glad to know, you won’t be seeing battle in this war.  It will be over soon..._

           

            “The war will be over soon.  Could that be true?  How could she possible know that?  Over.... But won by whom?” 

 

_...Become a doctor.  Consider it your duty to care for those who fought..._

 

            That sounded promising, Edward thought, not at all like something you would say to someone on the losing side of a war. 

 

            The Germans had launched a very successful offensive in the spring; however, their losses had been very heavy and reports were that the speed of their advance had put their supply lines under tremendous strain.  There were reports of loss of discipline in the ranks and looting as supplies ran short.  Edward had even heard reports that they had resorted to killing their horses for their meat.  If that was true, they must be truly desperate.  Optimistic reports were now being spread that the German army was severely weakened due to their huge number of losses.  To hope for victory within only five more months, though…. 

 

            “Pull yourself together, Edward.  Whoever this girl is, she cannot possibly know when the war will end.  Are you seriously thinking she could?  This is madness.”  Angrily, he put the letter in his desk and slammed the drawer shut, pinching his finger in the process, and went downstairs to his parents.

 

            Edward found his parents in the kitchen, having already started their breakfast.  “Good morning, Father, Mother.  I apologize for taking so long.  Good morning, Nellie.  Breakfast smells wonderful, as usual.” 

 

            Nellie was their cook and Maggie’s niece.  She was young, only a few years older than he was, but she was a fabulous cook already.  She had been with them for only a year, joining them after their previous cook, Kathleen, left to care for an ailing relative.  “Thank you, Mr. Edward.  Mrs. Masen, I have the basket ready to go, ma'am.” 

 

            “Oh, thank you Nellie, dear.  Please leave it in the kitchen.  I will come for it.” 

 

            “Yes, ma’am.”

 

            His father greeted him as Nellie returned to the kitchen and, smiling, tipped the newspaper he was reading at his mother.  “Good morning, Edward.  Your mother has decided this Dr. Cullen I hear so much talk of needs fattening up.  She has packed his lunch for him and is going to feed it to him by force if necessary.  What do you think about that?” 

 

            Edward buttered a slice of toast as he answered, “I think Mother on a mission is a force to be reckoned with.” 

 

            Elizabeth smiled at her husband and son.  “Now you two, it is only a sandwich and some cheese and fruit.  The poor man has no one to look after him.  Someone needs to see to it he eats properly.”

 

            Edward, Sr. looked fondly at his wife and raised his water glass in salute to her.  “Elizabeth, my love, you are an angel sent from above.  We mere mortal men are blessed to have you walk amongst us.” 

 

            Edward raised his glass to his mother as well.  “Here, here.” 

 

            Elizabeth brought her napkin to her mouth and laughed. “Really, such praise for a sandwich.  Thankfully, it is not more.  I fear you would have a statue carved of me.” 

 

            Taking her hand and kissing her knuckles while she smiled lovingly at him, Edward, Sr. said,  “My love, if I thought there was a sculptor in the world who could capture your beauty, I’d have him carve ten.”          

 

            Edward blushed at his parents’ antics.  Even after all these years, they could be as silly as newlyweds.  They were truly happily married, true soul mates, if such a thing existed.  Nothing about them was for show; they were genuinely and deeply in love.  Edward was caught in a daydream, hoping he and his future wife would be as happy together, when his father addressed him. “Edward, your mother tells me you were reading a journal Dr. Cullen loaned you.” 

 

            “Yes, Father, _The Lancet_.  I was reading a very interesting article on the newest treatment for shell shock.  A doctor in England is revolutionizing the way it is treated.  It’s fascinating.  There is so much we do not know about the mind.  We are only just beginning to learn.” 

 

            “You are very fortunate he has taken such an interest in you, son.  He was the one who operated on Walter Cleveland’s leg after the accident, do you remember, Elizabeth?  Nearly three years ago it was, I believe, before the Burns murder case.  It was said at the time he would never walk again.  Today, he barely has a limp. 

 

            “Oh, yes, Elizabeth, before I forget, Mrs. Carrington came by the office yesterday.  They have invited us to dine with them this Saturday.  I accepted.  I hope we do not already have an engagement; I could not remember one.” 

 

            His mother had finished her breakfast and was wiping her mouth with her napkin.  “No, dearest, we have no other commitments this weekend.  That will be lovely.  Edward, you will be nice to Violet, won’t you, dear?  She is a sweet girl, and she knows very few young people in town.”

 

            Edward placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head as he promised, “I will be a perfect gentleman, mother.  I will be charming, witty, and utterly amiable.” 

 

            “Oh, Edward, do be serious.  She is a very shy girl, and a little kindness can go a long way, you know.” 

 

            Feeling bad for teasing his mother – it was as much a part of her nature to take care of people as it was to breathe – Edward apologized. “I am sorry, Mother.  I have plans to go the moving pictures this afternoon after I help Mr. Robards at the Red Cross.  Joe Watson and Will Collins are going, as are Lillian and Irene Stevenson.  If you would like, I could telephone Mrs. Carrington from the hospital and ask if Violet may join us.” 

 

            “Oh, that would be very kind of you, Edward.  The Stevenson sisters are such nice girls, and it would be wonderful for Violet to make some friends.  I do remember your mentioning going to the pictures with your friends a few days ago.  _The Million Dollar Mystery,_ was it not?”  Their vivid green dulled, and a tightness appeared around Elizabeth Masen’s eyes that seemed to suddenly age her by several years.  _Here it comes_ , Edward thought to himself, _the inevitable, the dreaded_...  “You won’t be going to the Colonial Theater, will you?” 

 

            “No, Mother, of course not.  It’s playing at the Iris.”  Edward’s voice took on a quality he only used when answering that particular question, no matter how many times it was asked.  It was a patient sympathy for a loss that, though now nearly two decades old, would never be fully recovered from. 

           

            His father had finished his breakfast, and as he pushed his plate away from himself, their eyes met across the table.  Rising, Edward, Sr. asked his wife and son, “If we are finished, shall we be on our way?  I do not know what the state of the roads will be after that storm.  There are likely to be tree branches down everywhere.  Thankfully, it sounds to finally be dying down.” 

 

            The bright emerald glow slowly returned to Elizabeth’s eyes as her husband took her hand.  Neither of the Masen men gave away that it had ever left.

 

            The ride to the hospital was quiet as everyone thought of their upcoming day.  Edward had managed to put the letter out of his mind during breakfast, but now that he did not have conversation to distract him, he found himself dwelling on it again.  Bella Swan.  The whole thing was fantastic.  It was impossible, _but it had happened_.  Impossible it may be, but there was no denying that it had happened. 

 

            Once his mother and he arrived at the hospital, they went straight to the volunteer station to let the nurses know they had arrived and were greeted by the head nurse, a very efficient middle-aged woman name Beatrice Denison.  “Edward, dear, Dr. Cullen asked that you be sent straight to the fourth floor when you arrive.  I believe it was a very difficult night.” 

 

            Dr. Cullen was speaking to Dr. Baxley, a psychiatrist in private practice who was volunteering his time helping the returning soldiers, when Edward found him.  “Ah, and here he is now.  George, this is the young man I was just telling you of.  Dr. George Baxley, please meet Edward Masen.” 

 

            Dr. Baxley shook Edward’s hand.   “I’m very pleased to meet you, Edward.  Carlisle has been telling me great things about you.  I understand it is your intention to become a doctor.  May I ask what field?” 

 

            “Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  I had planned to become a surgeon, but I am becoming more and more interested in psychiatry.  Dr. Cullen was kind enough to lend me _The Lancet_ from February, featuring Dr. Rivers’ paper on his treatment of sufferers of shell shock.” 

 

            “Yes, so he was just telling me.  We have been discussing your assistance with the men, Peter Lord in particular.  I had noted significant improvement as of late, but I am afraid this past night has set all of them back some.  I believe you have made an impact on my patients, Edward.  I thank you for that.” 

 

            “They have made an impact on me, Dr. Baxley.  It seems society is well aware of those who return with physical injuries, but the men suffering from mental afflictions are much more easily overlooked.  I confess, I had been guilty of that myself.” 

 

            “You are quite right, of course.  If an injury is not easily seen, it is not seen at all.  But, an injury to the mind is no different than an injury to any other part of the body.  It has a cause, and it is our responsibility to find the proper treatment.” 

 

            “May I ask, how is Peter this morning?” 

 

            It was Dr. Cullen who answered him this time.  “I’m afraid he is not well.  I was forced to sedate him last night.  He believed the thunder was the shell that killed his friend and that he was covered in his friend’s blood.  He began screaming and clawing at himself.  In his delirium, his strength was significantly heightened, and the nurses were unable to restrain him.  He scratched himself up rather badly before I was able to arrive.” 

 

            There were several men suffering from shell shock in the hospital at any given time, many of whom were not from Chicago but had been sent by their own doctors.  Their families tried to visit as often as they could, but it was not always possible, and some had no family to visit them.  Edward spent most of his time at the hospital just sitting and spending time with them.  He filled the role of a friend, someone close to their own age.  Sometimes they played cards; sometimes they talked baseball or about the latest moving pictures.  Sometimes the men talked of the war, and sometimes they sat without speaking at all.  He had been instructed to let the men speak of whatever they wanted for the most part and make notes of their conversations for Dr. Baxley. 

 

            Thankfully, most did not stay long before they were able to be released and continue their treatment as outpatients.  Peter Lord had been at the hospital for nearly three months, but now that Dr. Baxley had taken over his case, he was making great progress.  His family lived over two hours away and was unable to visit often.  They had very little money, but as had happened before with other men, an unknown benefactor had arranged to be responsible for all of his expenses. 

 

            From what Edward understood of Peter's war experience, he had gone out after a German attack to find a fellow soldier and friend, but what he'd found was his friend’s body blown to pieces from a shell blast, the head and limbs lying separated from the torso.  He collapsed, and since then, he has been haunted with unspeakable nightmares of his dead friend.  In the nightmares, the mutilated body of his friend would come nearer and nearer, until Peter awoke in a state of terror with sweat pouring off him.  He was utterly terrified of going to sleep and spent each day in a state of constant dread of the coming night. 

 

            He had been advised by previous doctors to block all thoughts of the war, but that had only resulted in the nightmares becoming more horrifying still.  Dr. Baxley had started tending to him following Dr. Rivers’ example, and he was now sometimes able to speak of his dead friend in a positive manner.  Just the other day, he'd spoken of him to Edward while they played cards together and had laughed.  It was only for a moment, over almost as soon as it began, but he had _laughed_.  A man he had known for not even three weeks had laughed, and it was one of the happiest moments of Edward’s life.  The nurse present at the time had nearly cried. 

 

            But now, all the man's hard won progress was jeopardized due to the storm.

 

            Dr. Baxley excused himself to go to his office, as he had other patients to see.  He normally came in after his office hours in the evening, but he had come in early this morning to check on his patients after the storm.  Dr. Cullen was a surgeon, but he had studied psychiatry as well, and as he worked the night shift, he filled both roles when needed.  Both doctors were on call for emergencies during the day, as were other local psychiatrists.

 

            “I am working an extra shift today, Edward.  Dr. Baxley had cases of his own he could not put off, but we both felt it necessary for one of us to be here today.” 

 

            Edward was not surprised by this.  His mother was right; Dr. Cullen did put in an incredible number of hours beyond his own shift.  “I must warn you, Dr. Cullen.  My mother has decided you work too hard and do not take proper care of yourself.  She has brought a lunch for you, and if I know my mother, she is going to insist on watching you sit and eat it.” 

 

            Dr. Cullen said that was most kind of her.  He had only planned on running out at some point during the day for a quick meal. 

 

            The two men went about their business for the next few hours, and Mrs. Masen appeared with the promised lunch promptly at noon.  Dr. Cullen accepted the gesture very gratefully, for which Edward was relieved.   Some doctors he had met might have been affronted.  His mother needed to return to her work, but she instructed him to ensure every bit was eaten. 

 

            “Come, Edward.  There is a small staff lounge we can eat in.”  Dr. Cullen led the way to the lounge, which was surprisingly empty at this time of day, and they sat down to their food.

 

            “Dr. Cullen?  I need to telephone a friend.  I will just be a moment.  Is there a telephone I may use?” 

 

            “Yes, of course.  You may use the one in my office.  Is this friend possibly a young lady, may I ask?” 

 

            “Yes, sir, it is.  The daughter of a new attorney in District Attorney’s Office.  She is very shy and knows no one in town.  I am going to the pictures with some friends later today, and I thought she might like to join us.”  

 

            Dr. Cullen smiled approvingly; he looked very pleased that Edward had thought to include Violet in his plans with his friends.  “That is very thoughtful of you, Edward.  Please, take all the time you need.  I believe you are leaving shortly, are you not?  Why don’t you stay here after your lunch and write your notes up.  This room is rarely used.  Most doctors prefer to either go out or eat in their offices, and the nurses have their own lounge.  You should not be disturbed.” 

 

            Edward made his call and was gone only a few minutes, but when he returned, Dr. Cullen had already finished his lunch.  He was surprised, as he didn’t think he’d been gone that long. 

 

            “Is the young lady able to join you and your friends?” 

 

            “Yes, I said we would come for her after working at the Red Cross, and she and her mother offered to help as well.  A large shipment of comfort items is expected from Rockford.  The others will be there as well, so we can go straight to the theater.” 

 

            “What is the feature movie?” 

 

            “ _The Million Dollar Mystery._   It is playing at the Iris Theater.” 

 

            “Ah, yes.  I’m sure you and your friends will enjoy it.” 

 

            “You have seen it already, Dr. Cullen?” 

 

            “Oh, yes, I am a great admirer of moving pictures and go quite often, whenever I am able.  Of course, you are probably too young to remember it when it was a serial.” 

 

            Again, Edward was surprised.  Dr. Cullen put so many hours in at the hospital, it hardly seemed possible he would have time left over to go to the pictures.  “On the contrary, I remember it quite well.  I admit, I even persuaded my mother to submit an entry for me.  Sadly, I did not win.  I was young enough to honestly believe wholeheartedly that I would, and I remember being incredibly disappointed not to get to meet Florence LaBadie.” 

 

            “There is so much sadness in life, it is good to laugh for a while.  A few hours' diversion is a blessing.” 

 

            Edward was surprised by the comment and thought the doctor seemed really quite sad as he spoke it.  His voice had held such a longing that Edward found himself wondering about Dr. Cullen.  He really knew nothing about the man.  No one did.   He suspected he was in his early thirties, though he looked younger.  Edward knew he had not been in Chicago long, just over three years, and as his mother said, he was unmarried and had no family or close friends.  Edward was sure he had not mistaken the sadness, the hollow loneliness in Dr. Cullen's voice just now.  Had Dr. Cullen been married before coming to Chicago, Edward wondered?  If he was a recent widower, that would certainly explain all the extra hours he worked, wanting to be busy, to not be alone in an empty house. 

 

            “Is everything all right, Edward?  Is something on your mind?  You seem a million miles away all of a sudden.” 

 

            Edward didn’t realize how lost in his thoughts he was, and he startled a bit.  When Dr. Cullen asked if anything was on his mind, he immediately thought again of the letter.  “Dr. Cullen, do you think it is possible for the impossible to happen?”  He had asked the question before his brain could stop him, and he groaned to himself.  He admired Dr. Cullen greatly, and now the man was going to think him cracked in the head. 

 

            “I don’t believe I understand what you mean.  Certainly, things that had once seemed impossible have happened.  Take aeroplanes, for example; twenty years ago, people would have said flight was impossible, but now we have aeroplanes.  And automobiles before that.  I suppose a thing is only impossible until someone does it.” 

 

            _Only impossible until someone does it..._  

 

            That pretty much summed it up, Edward thought.  Impossible though it seemed, whoever this Bella Swan was, she had done it. 

 

            “Whatever is on you mind, Edward?  You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” 

 

            _A ghost?_

 

             Could Bella Swan be a ghost?  Was he seriously considering the existence of a ghost?  Of course, he and his friends liked to play with a Ouija board and hold séances, but it was just fun.  The boys gently pushed the planchette around the board spelling things out, making the girls squeal and laugh, but no one took it seriously.  No, he definitely didn’t believe in ghosts.  This girl had only known what was in the letter, nothing more, and if she was a ghost, why would she have taken his letter?  If a ghost had wanted to scare him, and he admitted to himself that finding her letter had given him quite the scare, why not just sneak up behind him and yell, “Boo!”  Edward mentally shook his head, no, definitely no such thing as ghosts. 

 

            This was good, he rationalized; consider possibilities, no matter how absurd, and eliminate them based on logical reasons.  This he could do. 

 

            “Do you believe in ghosts, Dr. Cullen?  The supernatural?”  Edward groaned to himself again, louder this time.  What was it about this man that made him ask ridiculous questions without thinking?

 

            Dr. Cullen observed him for a moment, like he was seriously considering his question.  “Ghosts, no.  But the supernatural?  I have seen things that science cannot explain.  Patients who were expected to certainly die, but recover fully.  Patients who were expected to fully recover, but die suddenly.  Some people have been reported to do exceptional things under great distress, a mother who lifts a very heavy object that has fallen during an earthquake and trapped her child, for instance.  I know some people, mothers and wives, have insisted they felt a sudden, dreadful sense of loss at the exact moment their son or husband was killed in action, or felt terrible pain at the moment he was injured.  But is it supernatural, or is there a scientific explanation for it that was simply do not yet have?  Or, is it nothing more than someone stricken with grief desperately clinging to some connection with their lost or injured loved one?  I cannot say.  If it is the latter, what right have we to take that belief away from them, if it brings them some measure of comfort?  I find the longer I live and the more I learn, the more I realize how little mankind knows.  Perhaps, there are some things the Creator simply does not want us to know.  Perhaps, there are some things we are meant to just accept, even be grateful for.” 

 

            Edward sat speechlessly.  He had expected the doctor to laugh good-naturedly and suggest he had been reading too many books.  He had not expected such a serious, rational response.  Just accept it, even be grateful for it?  Is he not meant to understand this, just accept it and be grateful? 

 

            “Is there a particular reason for your question?” 

 

            Edward was startled again; he could not believe how distracted he was allowing himself to become.  It was very disrespectful, and wholly unlike him.  “What?  Oh, no.  It was just… I was just thinking…. of something I read.” 

 

            “Well then, I must get back to my patients, and I will let you get to your notes.  I have enjoyed our lunch, please thank your mother again for me.” 

 

            “I will, sir.  Thank you.”  Edward sat and stared at the door for several minutes after Dr. Cullen left.  Was he not meant to understand this?  Just accept it and be grateful for it?  Could he do that? 

 

            _I do not think a have much of a choice._

 

            After quickly writing up his notes of the time he'd spent with the patients, Edward left the lounge in search of Beatrice to hand in his notes for the morning and found her at the nurses' station speaking to Mr. Robards. 

 

            She saw him coming and said, “Oh, there you are.  Good, good.  I was just going to send someone to find you.” 

 

            “Here you are, Nurse Denison.” 

 

            “Oh, thank you, I will see that Dr. Baxley gets them.  Good night, Edward.” 

 

            “Good night, Nurse Denison.  I will see you tomorrow.”   He handed the notes to her and turned to face Mr. Robards.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Robards, am I late?” 

 

            Mr. Robards was well into his sixties but had more energy than most twenty-year-olds.  He was always in a good mood.  It was impossible to be cross around him; his good humor was contagious.  Mr. Robards always reminded Edward of a young child who had had too much candy, and he was very fond of the man.  He didn’t think anyone could help but be fond of him.  The older man laughed as they walked out of the hospital together.  “Oh, no, my dear boy, no, no, not at all, not at all.  I am a little early, eager to get started, eager to get started.  Pauline Lamoreaux at Rockford says it’s quite a large shipment.  Good, good.  Our boys need it, our boys need it.  But you’ll be over there soon too yourself.  Hope it won’t come to that, hope it won’t come to that.  Got Fritz good and weakened now we have, so they say, good and weakened.  Hope it’s true, hope it’s true.  Finish this soon, our doughboys will, finish this soon and come back home.  Far too many lost already, far too many.”  In addition to his good humor and energy, Mr. Robards tended to repeat himself.  “Much to do, much to do.  Much obliged to you and your friends, young man, much obliged.  Strong, young backs like yours, much obliged, indeed.  Not much good I’ll be, I’m afraid, not much good at all.  The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, I’m afraid.  Not much good this old back will be.  Ah, well, mustn’t complain, mustn’t complain.  Too many young'uns in cemeteries to complain of getting old, far too many.” 

 

            Mr. Robards finally broke for a moment to draw a breath, and Edward was able to get a word in.  “Two more people will be joining us, Mrs. Frank Carrington and her daughter, Violet Carrington.  Mrs. Carrington is the wife of a new attorney working with my father in the District Attorney’s Office.  They are new to Chicago.” 

 

            “Fine, fine, the more the merrier, I always say, the more the merrier.  More hands make the work go faster.  Mrs. and Miss Carrington will be most welcome, most appreciated, most welcome indeed.  Good to see young people doing their part, good to see it.  Everyone’s got their part to play.  And you at the hospital almost everyday, too, with our boys, good to see it.”

 

            Edward smiled at the older man.  Mr. Robards sometimes spoke so fast, he had trouble keeping up. 

 

            As they arrived at the train station, they found a group of people already assembled and awaiting the train.  An older woman named Constance Hardcastle was organizing the volunteers and checking names off a clipboard as people arrived.  She saw them arriving and greeted them.  “Ah, Mr. Robards, Edward, thank you both so much for coming.  The train is running a few minutes late, I'm afraid, but it should be here shortly.  We have a good number of people today, so we should get everything loaded onto the trucks quickly.  Thankfully, the storm has passed.  I do believe the sun may break through later this afternoon.  A number of businesses have generously donated the use of their delivery trucks and drivers, and some bakeries have donated baked goods for the volunteers.  Mrs. Carrington telephoned earlier, Edward.  She and her daughter are back at the Red Cross with the other ladies preparing everything there.  Rockford’s is the last delivery, and the Army will be picking everything up early tomorrow morning.”       

 

            Edward left Mrs. Hardcastle and Mr. Robards and went over to where his friends were standing.  He had known Joe Watson and Will Collins for most of his life, and the three were as close as brothers.  Joe was a year older than the other two, but he had been very ill as a child and missed a year of school as a result.  The three friends joked and laughed together while they waited for the train. 

 

            “Do you remember my telling you of the daughter of the new attorney at my father’s office?”

           

            His two friends shared a look and attacked. 

 

            “You mean the future Mrs. Edward Masen, Jr.?  What about her?  Mother Masen still trying to marry you off to keep you home?” 

 

            “Yeah, what about it, Eddie?  Have you proposed?  Gotten down on bended knee?  You going to stay home and be the little husband, _get your gun polished_ while we go off and kill us a bunch of Huns without you?” 

 

            Edward laughed at his friends' teasing, but he felt uncomfortable.  When he'd spoken to Violet on the telephone earlier, she had sounded so grateful to have been invited that he had immediately felt like a cad for not having made more of an effort to be friendly when her family had dined with them.  Of course, he knew his friends would never speak like that in front of her, or any other girl, but in teasing him, even far more innocently, they might embarrass her unintentionally.  “Yes, yes, very funny you two.  Her name is Violet, and I’ve invited her to join us at the picture show this afternoon, so try not to act like a couple of apes, will you?” 

 

            Will and Joe shared another look before breaking out into their very best ape impersonations.

 

            “Oh, will you two stop it already?  People are staring.” 

 

            Will and Joe now switched to their very best scolded child impersonations. 

 

            “We’re sorry, Edward.” 

 

            “Yes, we’re sorry.  We will be nice.  We promise.” 

 

            “You have our word.  We will be perfect gentlemen.” 

 

            They were both losing the battle with their laughter at their friend’s expense and soon gave up the fight. 

 

            “You must promise us something too, though, Edward.  You must promise to let us be your bridesmaids.” 

 

            “Oh, yes, Edward, please?” 

 

            “Her name is _Violet_.  Lovely name is it not, Will?  _Violet Masen_ , sounds lovely together.” 

 

            “Just lovely, Joe, just lovely, and the bridesmaids dresses _must_ be in _violet_ , of course.  It will be just lovely.” 

 

            Edward was glad when they heard the train whistle a few moments later, as they were soon too busy unloading the boxes from the train and onto the waiting trucks to continue teasing him.  It was as large a shipment as they were expecting, but they had enough men, and the work went quickly.  They got everything back to the Red Cross building and followed the ladies’ instructions on what went where.  The work was soon finished, and a table with fresh berry tarts and pound cake was set up for the volunteers. 

 

            Mrs. Carrington and Violet were pouring lemonade and iced tea, and Edward introduced them to his friends.  “Mrs. Frank Carrington, Miss Violet Carrington, allow me to introduce my friends, Joe Watson and Will Collins.” 

 

            Mrs. Carrington offered all three something to drink.  “We are very pleased to meet you boys.  It was very kind of you to invite Violet to join you this afternoon.  She is so looking forward to it, aren’t you, dear?” 

 

            Violet was looking very bashful but smiled enthusiastically at the mention of their plans.  “Oh, yes.  I do so enjoy picture shows.  Thank you again for inviting me.” 

 

            Edward realized that his mother was right; Violet wasn’t the least bit silly or foolish, simply very shy.  He also realized that his friend, Joe, was looking at her like he had seen the sun for the very first time. 

 

            Lillian and Irene Stevenson arrived then and joined their friends.  They had been busy helping their father write up the final inventory of everything that had been donated and ensuring all was ready to be picked up in the morning.  Mr. Stevenson was an accountant and had left work to volunteer his services for a couple hours but needed to return to his office soon. 

 

            Mrs. Carrington offered the three Stevensons something to drink, and everyone helped themselves to something to eat. 

 

            Mr. Stevenson soon excused himself to return to work.  “Lillian, Irene, I trust you will be all right with your friends.  Mrs. Carrington, Violet, it was a pleasure to meet you both.  Boys, good to see you again.  Take good care of these ladies.” 

 

            Lillian and Irene kissed their father goodbye, and the friends began helping clean up.  Mrs. Hardcastle came up to them and thanked them for their time.  “Now, you young people have done quite enough.  Off with you.  You are all off to the pictures, I understand.  Go, go and enjoy yourselves.  We can finish up here.” 

 

            Mrs. Carrington agreed.  “Yes, Mrs. Hardcastle is quite right.  You had best be off.  Edward, dear, you will see Violet home, I trust?  She does not know her way around the city well.” 

 

            It was Joe who answered as he offered Violet his arm, “We will see her to your door, ma’am.”

 

            They decided to walk to the theater, as it was not far, and the sun had indeed begun peeking out from behind the clouds.  Joe seemed quite smitten with Violet, both Edward and Will noted.  Once, when the two had fallen behind the others as they walked, Will whispered to Edward that it looked as if he might have lost his bride and would have to settle for being a bridesmaid.  “Not to fear, Edward, with any luck, maybe you'll catch the bouquet.” 

 

            Violet, Edward noted, seemed to appreciate Joe's obvious interest, but he did not know if she returned it.  Once her initial shyness fell away, she was interesting and engaging to talk to.  Edward had no interest in her for himself, but he found himself looking forward to dining with her family this weekend. 

 

            Back at home that evening, Edward excused himself to his room as quickly as possible and found himself seated once again at his desk.  He could barely remember seeing the featured picture and was grateful that he and his parents had seen it three years ago when it was a serial, as it saved him from being asked questions he would have been unable to answer.  He could not honestly say what any of the shorts had been about, but the others seemed to have enjoyed them, and he did not even remember if they had shown a news reel, although he knew they must have.  Once the lights had gone off and the organist began to play, his thoughts had returned to the letter and nothing had been able to distract him from it, not even the beautiful and tragic Miss Florence La Badie.  Dr. Cullen had said maybe some things were not meant to be understood, just accepted.  Could he do that?  Did he have a choice?  He sat there with Bella Swan’s letter in his hands.  “Oh, what have I got to lose?  If I am to go insane, I might as well enjoy myself.”  He grabbed paper, pen, and ink and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes -  
> Dr. Rivers' was a real person, everything I attribute to him is true. Part of Carlisle's dialogue to Edward regarding Dr. Rivers, “…one thing that those who are suffering.....from their minds altogether.” , is a direct quote from Dr. Rivers. I used his actual words because I wanted to really have the right feel of how a doctor would have spoken at the time. 
> 
> The movie Edward and Carlisle discuss, The Million Dollar Mystery, was released in 1914 as a serial of 23 chapters which would be played before the main feature film. The movie follows a secret society called “The Black Hundred” as they go in search of a lost one million dollars. It was later released as a feature in June of 1918, which puts it in with our story. In 1914, the serial was released with the gimmick that the last chapter was unwritten, and a contest was held for the public to send in the final chapter with a prize of $10,000. It was advertised as “$10,000 for 100 words.” There were thousands of entries, and a secretary from St. Louis won the prize. (I happen to be a secretary, so you rock sister :-]) The main star, Florence LaBadie, played a character named Florence Hargreaves, who was actually reported missing as a publicity stunt. Plot details were fed to newspapers and the police as if they were real, and it took a week before they were found out. Florence LaBadie was hugely popular at the time. She died from injuries from a car accident in 1917. She was 29 when she died. No copies of the film are known to exist today. – Per Wikipedia. 
> 
> The Colonial and Iris Theaters were real. There is, as you can probably guess, a back story to the Colonial, but you'll just have to wait for it. Also, as you can probably guess, it's not good.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my two Project Team Beta betas, DeanWinchester-myheart!
> 
> This is the first chapter that flip-flops back and forth between 1918 and 2009, after this they all will until...
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

            “It’s not a problem, Mrs. Ruiz, really.  I’ll come right over.” 

 

            Bella could hear her neighbor laughing on the other end of the line.  “Really, Bella, I’ve told you to call me Sonia.  You make me feel old.  Mrs. Ruiz is my mother-in-law.” 

 

            “Right, sorry, Sonia.” 

 

            “Are you sure it’s not a problem?  I’m sorry it’s last minute.” 

 

            “It’s fine, really.  I don’t have anything planned, and I could use the money.  My mom and Phil are getting married, and I want to get them something.”  

 

            “Oh!  That’s wonderful!  Oh, he's so handsome!  And so young!  Good for her, it’s good to see an older woman with a younger man for a change.  It’s been the other way around for too long; not that your mother is _older_ , but you know what I mean.  Oh, I’m so happy for her.  He seems so nice.  I’ll have to come over and see her ring.  Have they set a date?  Is it going to be a big wedding?” 

 

            Bella smiled to herself.  Nothing got most women excited like a wedding.  For her own wedding, though, she thought eloping to Vegas sounded pretty good.  Not that she really planned on ever getting married anyway.  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there, I promise.” 

 

            “Oh, good.  You’re really sure it’s okay?  I’m sorry it’s last minute.  They only just called, and Carlos is working on a paper for school.  I can’t believe he’s almost done.  When he went back to college, it seemed like he would never finish, but now it’s almost here already.” 

 

            “I’m sure.  It’s fine, really.  Kenny and I are buds.  We’ll hang out.  I’ll take him to the park and let him run around so he doesn’t make noise around the house and disturb his father.” 

 

            “Thanks loads, Bella, you’re an absolute life saver.  I’ll see you soon.” 

 

            Bella hung up the phone as her mother walked in the room, hunting through her purse looking for something.  “Who was that on the phone?” 

 

            “Sonia Ruiz, she got called in to work and asked if I could come over and watch Kenny.  Her husband is home, but he’s working on a paper for school.  What are you looking for?” 

 

            “I can’t find the card Abby gave us for that store she told us about that rents jewelry.” 

 

            Bella was getting her purse out of the closet as she answered, “You put it in the address book by the phone.” 

 

            “Oh, right.” 

 

            Bella shook her head and smiled fondly at her mother; she would loose a limb if they weren’t all attached.  “I told her about the wedding.  She’s very happy for you.  She said she’d come over to see the ring.”          

 

            Renee had not wanted a diamond.  She, Phil, and Bella were all born in September, and she and Phil had met in September, so she wanted a sapphire.  She chose an emerald cut sapphire with a small, trilliant cut diamond on either side and two rows of very small, accent diamonds running along the yellow gold band between very fine white gold bead work.  It looked both old and modern at the same time and was absolutely beautiful. 

 

            After making sure her cell phone was in her purse, Bella looked back at her mother, who she knew would be staring at the ring on her finger.  No one could ever mention the ring without her mother stopping whatever she was doing to stare at it with a happy, dreamy expression on her face.  “Earth to Renee.” 

 

            “Very funny.  You just wait until your day comes.  I’m so going to enjoy watching you freak out over cake flavors and twenty different pink roses.” 

 

            “No way.  _If_ I ever get married, I’m running off to Vegas.” 

 

            “BELLA!” 

 

             “Gotta run, Mom, Mrs. Ruiz is waiting for me.  See you later.”

 

            Sonia Ruiz was waiting for her at the door.  The Ruiz family had moved next door to Bella and her mom when Kenny was just a baby.  Sonia Ruiz managed a trendy clothing store that Bella knew was popular with a lot of girls in her school, and her husband, Carlos, worked in construction but had gone back to school part-time.  Kenny was now a highly energetic four-year-old, who loved reminding everyone he was almost five by holding his little hand up with his fingers spread wide, and Bella adored him.  She babysat several children in the neighborhood, but Kenny was easily her favorite.  “Thank you so much, again, for coming at the last minute, Bella.  I’m sorry you had to change your plans.  Pamela and Lexi both called off sick and Tara is there alone.”

 

_“What plans?”_ Bella thought to herself.  One of the reasons she got so much babysitting business was because she hardly ever, if ever, had plans.  She was always available.  The people she babysat for were all well aware of that, she knew, even if they pretended otherwise.             

 

            Sonia was giving a last kiss goodbye to her son before running out the door.  “Mommy has to go to work for a little while, but I have a surprise for you.”  Kenny looked up from his plate of baked macaroni and cheese with his bottom lip already starting to quiver, but his mother continued before he could cry for her to stay home with him, “Miss Bella is here.” 

 

            Kenny broke out into a huge smile and jumped down from the table, running to Bella, who scooped him up in the air and blew raspberries on his stomach.  “Miss Belly!”  Bella was his favorite babysitter; she played the best games and made the best voices when she read to him.  He always called her “Miss Belly” instead of “Miss Bella” because she would always blow raspberries on his stomach.

 

            Bella put him on her hip and carried him back to the kitchen table.  “You have a lunch to finish, young man.” 

 

            Sonia was slipping out the door before her son had a chance to remember she was leaving and to start crying.  “Help yourself, Bella.  I left it in the stove to keep warm for you.” 

 

_Oh, yes!  Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh yes!_

            “You don’t have to tell me twice, Mrs. Ruiz.  Sorry, sorry, Sonia.  You make the best mac-n-cheese.”  Bella used the hot pads to take the casserole dish out of the stove and got herself a plate of some of the best mac-n-cheese in the world.  This didn’t come out of any box.  It was homemade and had diced tomatoes and was _so_ creamy.  In short, it was little golden curls of heaven on a plate. 

 

            Around a mouth full of food Kenny asked, “Can we go to the park, Miss Belly?  Can we?  Can we?” 

 

            Bella smiled and closed her eyes as she took the first bite.  Oh, yes, this was good.  She would babysit for free any day of the week for a plate of this.  “Do we talk with our mouths full, Kenny?” 

 

            Kenny swallowed his next mouthful and then apologized.  He really was the sweetest of the children she watched.  “No, Miss Belly, I’m sorry.” 

 

            “Yes, we can go to the park, but you have to finish all your lunch first.  Then, I have to rinse our plates and put them in the dishwasher.” 

 

            As they finished their lunches, Kenny excitedly told her everything he was going to play on at the park.  Once the dishes were in the dish washer, Bella told him to get his shoes, and she would help him put them on and tie them and went to tell Mr. Ruiz-sorry, Carlos-they were leaving for the park.   

 

            After about two hours at the park, Kenny had played on everything from the swings to the slides and had run all around with his arms out wide pretending to be an airplane.  Bella knew he usually took a nap for a little while around this time, so she called him off the seesaw and told him it was time to go. 

 

            “Oh, please can we stay, just a little while?  I’m not tired.  I don’t wanna nap.”  Bella knelt down to his level and told him he might not be tired, but she was old and tired and she needed a nap.

 

            Wide-eyed, Kenny looked up at her in childish amazement.  “You take naps, _too_ , Miss Belly?  You can share Franklin, if you want.”  Franklin was his favorite toy, a stuffed turtle named after his favorite cartoon and books. 

 

            “Thank you, Kenny.  I’d like that very much.” 

 

            They walked the three blocks back home hand in hand, and Kenny was yawning and rubbing his eyes by the time they reached his house.  Bella sat with him on her lap on the couch and read to him for a while, and he was asleep, with Franklin curled protectively in his arm, half way through the book.  Once she was sure he was sound asleep, Bella turned a movie on with the volume down low to not disturb him.  Sonia arrived home just as the movie was going off, and Bella managed to get out from under the little boy without waking him up and thanked Sonia as she paid her for watching Kenny. 

 

            “I hope he was good for you.” 

 

            “He’s never a problem.  We went to the park for a while, and he’s been asleep for at least an hour and a half.  Thanks again, call me anytime.”

 

            No one was there when Bella got home, and she took her babysitting money straight to her room.  Now she had something to put in the hidden compartment in her desk.  She wanted to save up some money to get her mom and Phil a really nice wedding gift, but she had no idea what and was running over different ideas in her head as she pulled out the drawer and opened the compartment. Setting it down on the desk, she started laughing to herself as she thought of the letter she had written.  She felt completely silly for having written a letter to a man who lived one hundred years ago, but she had to admit, there was something kind of fun about it. 

 

            “I wonder if you ever became a doctor, EdwAAAAHH!!” 

 

            Bella screamed and jumped away from the desk; she tripped over the laundry basket on the floor next to her bed and fell backward into her dresser.  Sitting on the floor, trying to catch her breath, she stared disbelievingly at the desk. 

 

_“You imagined it.  That’s all.  You had to have.  You’re being ridiculous.  Right.  Of course.  That’s all.  You imagined it.”_  

 

            After a few minutes, Bella calmed herself down and convinced herself she hadn’t seen... what she thought she’d seen.  It was silly.  It was ridiculous.  It was completely insane.  Did she really think she'd seen… what she thought she'd seen?  Crap, she couldn’t even admit to herself what she thought she’d seen.  “Right.  Okay.  You’re not crazy… you just… you just thought… you saw… something… you didn’t.  Your eyes were just playing tricks on you, that's all.  Right... so… just… just get up and… look again.  You just… you just saw the letter you found yesterday, and, and… you just imagined....  Right.  Of course.  All that’s there is the letter you found yesterday and the one you wrote.  You just…imagined… that… other one.  Crap, now you're talking to yourself, and if that’s not a sure sign of crazy….” 

 

            Bella took a deep breath and pushed herself up.  She took a few short, slow steps toward the desk, trying to crane her neck to see into the drawer without having to go any closer.  After several very small steps, she was able to see inside, and she stood, rooted to the spot, unable to believe what she was seeing.  “Oh… My... God….  Oh, my God….  Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my GOD!”  She hadn’t imagined it.  There was a letter there, but it was _not_ the letter she had written.  It was a different one in the same old fashioned, slanted handwriting, written with the same fountain pen, and on the same paper as the first one.  And it had her name on it.

 

            “OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod.” 

 

            “ _Breathe, Bella.  Breath.... Breath in, breathe out.”_

 

After several deep breaths, Bella went in one second from being frozen in place to almost launching herself at the desk and grabbing the letter.  She was trying to read it so fast that, short as it was, she had to read it five times before she could actually comprehend it.

 

_June 25, 1918_

_My Dear Miss Bella Swan,_

_I fail to comprehend how you could have “found” a letter that was safely in my desk, but I would like it returned._

_As for what you say about the end of the war, as much as I would like to believe it, I fail to see how you could possibly presume to know such a thing.  The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month?  Are you a carnival fortune teller, Miss Swan?_

_Lastly, Miss Swan, you may wish to reconsider reading other people’s personal correspondence and then finding fault with them.  Some may see that as arrogant or hypocritical.  I remain,_

_Edward Anthony Masen_

            “Oh. My. _God_.”  Bella sat at her desk, breathing heavily and with her heart racing in her chest, the letter in one hand and her head in the other.  “I just got a letter that was written ninety one years ago... TO ME.”  Looking back and forth between the letter and the drawer, she made a decision and grabbed her notebook and a pen.  “Sanity is highly overrated.”

 

_Edward Masen?  Son of Edward Masen, Sr.?  Grandson of Richard Masen?  The Richard Masen who was a Major in the Union Army during the Civil War? Edward Masen who was born in 1901?_

 

            Bella looked at what she had written.  It looked rather inadequate in her opinion, but what were you supposed to write to someone who was living ninety one years in the past?  “Hey, guess what?  Movies talk now.”  Taking another deep breath, Bella put her letter in the hidden compartment and put the drawer back in the desk.  She stood and paced in her room so lost in thought that when Phil called her name, she screamed.

 

             “Bella?  What is it?  What’s wrong?  Are you hurt?” 

 

            Bella started to laugh hysterically and couldn't stop. 

 

_“What’s wrong?  Oh, nothing.  Nothing at all.  Oh, hey, guess what, I may have gotten a new pen pal.  Yeah, his name is Edward.  Oh, and by the way, HE LIVES IN FREAKING 1918!”_  

 

            Laughing so hard she was leaning on her desk, doubled over, Bella was barely able to breathe.  Phil was worried and came into her room; he had been in the hall when he called her name.  “Bella?  Honey?”  He came and knelt down next to her and took her hands in his.  “Bella, look at me.  Honey, if you’ve taken anything I need you to tell me.”  His tone of voice was so deadly serious it made her laugh even harder.  If she wasn't leaning against the desk, she'd have fallen over.  She wasn’t on drugs, but she did wonder if maybe she should be. 

 

            Bella tried to tell him she was fine, but she could barely speak, “I’m” gasp “fine.” gasp “I’m not on” gasp “drugs.” 

 

            Phil didn’t look the least bit convinced.  Apparently, sudden maniacal laughter for no apparent reason was cause for concern.  Bella tried to calm herself down.

 

             After several attempts, she was able to speak, “Really, Phil, I’m fine.  I’m not on drugs.”  She started laughing again.  “I’m afraid I do have bad news for you, though.  Apparently, insanity runs in our family.” 

 

            Looking at her like he wondered if that might be true, Phil said, “That certainly explains a lot.  Your mom is in the yard, she bought some flowers to put in containers.  We got burgers for the grill and salad.” 

 

            “Oh, good.  I’ll be right out.” 

 

            Still looking at her strangely, Phil went back outside.  Surprised, Bella realized she really was hungry.  Going crazy seemed to work up an appetite.  Who knew?  Fidgeting and with butterflies in her stomach, she couldn’t stand it any longer and opened the hidden compartment back up and started laughing like a madman again.  Her letter was gone.  “Who knew going totally bat shit crazy would be this much fun?”

 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

 

            “Edward, is something wrong, dear?  You have not strung two words together since returning from the theater.  Edward?  Edward?” 

 

            Edward looked up, startled out of his thoughts.  It had already been a very long day, and it was not yet over.  He had come downstairs with one of his favorite books, intending to distract himself, and joined his mother in the parlor, where she was seated knitting while listening to the Victrola and humming softly to herself.  His father had just arrived home and was in his study, reviewing files he would need at work the next day.  “I apologize, Mother.  What did you say?” 

 

            “I asked what is wrong, dear.  What has you looking so worried?” 

 

            _“Am I looking worried?  I cannot imagine why.  Oh, Mother, incidentally, do you by any chance know if we have any mental illness in our family?  I only ask because I appear to have suddenly lost my marbles and now believe that there is someone living in my desk, and she stole my letter to Mic.  I have even named her.”_  

 

            His mother was looking at him in concern, and he reassured her nothing was wrong.  “Nothing is wrong, Mother.  I am perfectly fine.” 

 

            “Edward Anthony Masen,” his mother said sternly. 

 

_“Oh, no,”_ Edward thought to himself, _“the full name.”_

 

“Something _is_ bothering you; it is plainly obvious.  You have not said more than two words since returning home and immediately hiding yourself away in your room, and you have not turned a page in your book since opening it.  You were so absorbed in whatever it is you were thinking of, I had to call your name three times before you answered me.  Did you quarrel with your friends?” 

 

            He had to think of something to reassure her.  “No, no, Mother.  I apologize for my rudeness.  I assure you, I am quite all right.  I was, I was thinking about the men at the hospital.” 

 

            “Are you sure, dear?  Truly, you look quite pale.” 

 

            Edward decided the best thing to do was to pretend to be feeling unwell and return to his room, where he could sit quietly not reading his book while very definitely not thinking about letters or imaginary girls as much as he wished until he was called for dinner. “You may be right, Mother.  Now that you mention it, I do have a slight headache.  I believe I will go lie down before dinner.” 

 

            His mother came over to him and felt his forehead for any sign of a fever. “Of course, dear.  Hm, you don’t feel warm.” 

 

            “It is only a headache, Mother.  I am quite well otherwise.” 

 

            Elizabeth knelt in front of her son and took his hands in hers.  Her hands, as Edward knew, were much stronger than they looked, and her grip was unsurprisingly firm.  “Edward, dearest, you are doing all you can for the men.  The hardest job any doctor has is to leave his patients in the hospital when he returns home.  You must also learn to accept that you cannot help everyone no matter how dearly you wish it.” 

 

            Edward leaned forward and kissed his mother on the forehead.  “Thank you, Mother.”

 

            Once in his room, Edward stood just inside the door staring at his desk.  “Just… walk over there and look.  Just… walk over there, open the drawer, and look.”  He remained just inside the door and berated himself. 

 

_“You are a coward, Edward Masen.  You have friends fighting the Germans, and you are afraid to open a desk drawer.”_

Feeling rather silly, Edward walked determinedly over to his desk, looked in the hidden compartment, and immediately collapsed into his desk chair. 

 

_“Why am I surprised?  Did I not expect this?”_  

 

            Pinching the bridge of his nose, Edward attempted to steady his nerves before picking up the letter.

 

_Edward Masen?  Son of Edward Masen, Sr.?  Grandson of Richard Masen?  The Richard Masen who was a Major in the Union Army during the Civil War? Edward Masen, who was born in 1901?_

            “Oh, hell.  In for a penny, in for a pound.  Better to be committed for being completely insane than only a little.”  Edward grabbed a sheet of paper and his pen and ink.

 

_June 25, 1918_

_My Dear Miss Swan,_

_Yes, Edward Masen, Sr. is my father, and my grandfather was Major Richard Masen of the Union Army.  May I ask how you know my family?  As you read in my letter, I am 17, so, yes, obviously, I was born in 1901._

_I must ask, have I lost my mind?  I put a letter in my desk only to have it vanish and be replaced with yours.  I have seen magicians, but I have never seen a trick such as this.  I was told recently that some things are not meant to be understood, just accepted and appreciated.  However, I confess, I am finding it very difficult to do so.  I must know.  How are you doing this?  Who are you?  I remain,_

_Edward Masen_

 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

            Phil was in full Master of the Grill mode. 

 

_“Phil at the Grill.”_

Bella realized she really shouldn’t think like that, or she’d start laughing like a madman again, and she was pretty sure if she did that, Phil might take her for a drug test.  Or a mental health evaluation.  Or possibly both.  It was really amazing, she mused, that most men couldn’t cook in the kitchen other than to boil water, but put them outside over an open flame and look out. 

 

            “Here is one fat, juicy Angus burger for my lady, another one for yours truly, and one lone, sad, little garden-so-called-burger-type-thing for our resident mental patient.” 

 

            Renee took the plates from Phil as Bella tossed the salad.  “Mental patient?” 

 

            Glancing at Bella from where he was going through his Proper Grill Cleaning and Maintenance Routine, Phil winked at her before answering Renee, “Inside joke.” 

 

            As she sat down at the small patio table, Bella rolled her eyes at him and said, “Careful Phil, laughing for no reason, people might think you're on something or question your sanity.” 

 

            Renee looked back and forth between them as Phil took his seat next to her at the table like she was questioning both their sanity.  “I worry about you two sometimes.” 

 

            Putting a slice of tomato on her garden burger, Bella said, “The burgers look great, Phil.” 

 

            “Yes, they do, if I say so myself.  On the other hand, that pathetic little thing on your plate…  How do you eat that?” 

 

            Bella stuck her tongue out at him and took a big bite of her garden burger. 

 

            “Children, no fighting at the dinner table.” 

 

            They both looked at Renee, who was smiling indulgently and shaking her head at them.  She was glad they got along so well; she knew some families where that wasn’t the case.  The kids resented it when their parent remarried, or someone married someone with children, but then didn’t want the children from the first marriage around.  As much as she loved Phil, if he and Bella didn’t have a good relationship, she wouldn’t have said yes. 

 

            “Sorry, Mom.” 

 

            “Sorry, Renee.” 

 

            “But, he started it.” 

 

            After dinner, Bella excused herself to go call her dad and returned to her room.  She was now sitting cross legged on her bed looking at the desk.  Should she look?  It had only been a little over an hour, and she knew if there was nothing there she’d be disappointed.  “Oh, for God’s sake.”  She got up and went over to her desk.  Drawer out.  Buttons pressed.  Compartment opened.  “Yes!”  Bella put her hand over her mouth and stood quietly looking at the door; the last thing she wanted was to have her mom come and check on her. 

 

            Nothing.  All quiet.  Good. 

 

            Relaxing, she squealed quietly in excitement and read Edward's newest letter several times.  “This is really happening.  It’s insane, but it’s really happening.”  This was three letters, including the first to his cousin, and with them all spread out in front of her, Bella noticed the dates on them for the first time.  She had noticed the year but not the date.  “One from June 24th and two from the 25th.  I wrote one yesterday, and then one again today.  His were yesterday and today, too, and this last one had to have been written within the last hour.”  Talking to her self and raising the letter to her face, Bella inhaled deeply and could still smell the ink; it was an indefinable scent, but she liked it.  “Are you still at your desk, _our_ desk, right now, Edward?”  She jumped up and got a pen and paper to answer him. 

 

_Dear Edward,_

_My name is Isabella Marie Swan.  I am 16, and I live in Phoenix with my mother, Renee Swan.  Please call me Bella, I think we can do without the formality, don’t you?  I hope you don’t mind me calling you Edward._

_I don’t know what is happening any more than you do.  I’m wondering if I’ve lost my mind, too, but I’ve decided that sanity is highly overrated.  All I know is the same as what you said.  I found your letter in a hidden compartment in a desk I was given as a gift by a man named Michael Masen.  Your desk.  I felt badly for your mother, how worried she must have been about you going to war, and I wished there was some way I could let her know there was nothing to worry about.  So, yesterday I wrote the letter and put it in the hidden compartment.  I felt really silly, and when I went to get it earlier today, it was gone, and yours was there.  Nearly scared me to death, by the way._

_I think whoever it was who told you that some things are not meant to be understood, just accepted and appreciated, was right._

_Please, write back to me and tell me if you ever learned “Miss New Attorney’s Daughter”’s name._

_Your Friend,_

_Bella_

 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

            “Edward, are you awake, dearest?” 

 

            Edward was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling deep in not thinking about letters from imaginary girls when his mother came to check on him.  “Yes, Mother, please come in.” 

 

            Elizabeth entered her son’s room and sat on the edge of his bed.  “How are you feeling?”

 

             “It is only a headache.  I’m sure it will pass soon.” 

 

            “I have brought you some aspirins.” 

 

            Taking the tablets from his mother, Edward swallowed them dutifully with a glass of water, and after feeling his forehead once again for any sign of a fever, Elizabeth Masen pressed a kiss to her son's unruly hair before leaving him to rest a short while before dinner.  Sitting up on his bed and looking at his desk for a moment after his mother left, Edward shook his head in bemusement.  “Who _are_ you, Bella Swan?”

 

            Dinner that night was later than usual as Edward, Sr. was late at the office, and it had been held late on his account in order for the family to dine together.  Edward took his seat at the dinner table and greeted his father. 

 

            “Edward, your mother tells me you are unwell this evening.” 

 

            “It is nothing, Father, only a headache.  I went to lie down for a short while and have just taken aspirins.  I am sure it will pass.” 

 

            Nellie smiled happily as she brought in dinner, a roast with buttered beets which she and Maggie had grown themselves in their Victory Garden.  Both women considered their garden to be their patriotic duty and, since America had entered the war, grew many of the vegetables for the family.

 

            Edward's mouth watered at the sight of the roast, the smell of which immediately succeeded in temporarily driving the issue of his newly developed insanity from his mind.  He considered himself as patriotic as anyone, but he readily admitted that the thought of the coming Tuesday was all that had gotten him through every other Monday for the past year.  Along with his parents, Edward willingly adhered to the government's Meatless Monday campaign, and while macaroni with tomato sauce wasn't bad, he would never learn to like baked fish.  At least Wheatless Wednesday was no particular hardship for him, having found he quite liked rye bread.

 

            Nellie’s brother, Patrick, a Private in the First Infantry Division, had shipped out last summer, and like all the family members of men fighting over there, both women were very worried for his safety.  They wrote often, and today there had been a letter from him. 

 

            “More vegetables from your garden, Nellie?” 

 

            Their young cook beamed with pride and smiled widely.  “Yes, Ma’am, and we have some lovely strawberries already.  There's a shortcake for dessert.” 

 

            After Nellie returned to the kitchen, Mr. Masen remarked to his wife that she seemed very happy this evening. 

 

            “Yes, dear.  They have had a letter from her brother, Patrick.  She has another brother, a younger brother, Thomas, apprenticed at a furniture maker.  He brought the letter by earlier for her to see.”

 

            “Good, good, very good.  What news?  He is well, I hope?” 

 

            “Yes, the letter was written twelve days ago.  He was somewhere in France, but he could not say where.” 

 

            Edward sat and ate quietly as he listened to his parents, unable to fully concentrate on what was being said, and was glad for the distraction when his father spoke to him.  “How were the men today, Edward?” 

 

            “They were not well, I am afraid.  The thunder, it was not easy for them.  Oh, Mother, before I forget, Dr. Cullen thanked you again for his lunch.” 

 

            Elizabeth was wiping her mouth with her napkin as she answered him.  “Oh, that is good, I am glad.  He ate all of it, I do hope.  I heard he joined you for lunch in the lounge.” 

 

            “Yes.  I asked if there was a telephone I could use to call Violet, and he told me I could use the one in his office.  He had just finished when I returned, and we sat and talked while I ate.  He enjoys motion pictures and said he goes as often as he is able.  He said he had already been to see _The Million Dollar Mystery_.” 

 

            His mother looked at him with a peculiar expression on her face, and it was several moments before she spoke again, “You did not see him eat?” 

 

            “No.  I was surprised to see he had already finished.  I was afraid I had taken longer than I realized.  He must eat very quickly.” 

 

            Edward, Sr. noticed the odd expression on his wife’s face and asked if she was feeling well herself. 

 

            Elizabeth appeared to come back to herself and smiled, noticing the concerned looks on her husband’s and son’s faces.  “I am fine, dear.  My mind just… wandered… for a moment.” 

 

            His father seemed appeased, but Edward still thought she looked like her mind was somewhere else. 

 

            “Mrs. Carrington telephoned the office to tell her husband she and Violet were going to the Red Cross, and that Violet was joining you and your friends afterward, Edward.  He was very grateful to you for inviting her.” 

 

            “I am glad she was able to join us.  She seems thick as thieves with Lillian and Irene already, and I believe Joe is quite smitten with her.”  Edward discreetly lowered his eyes and tried to fight a smile as he said the last part. 

 

            The dinner things were cleared away, and the cake was brought in. 

 

            “It looks wonderful, Nellie.  You have outdone yourself.” 

 

            “Thank you, ma'am.  I do hope you will enjoy it.”    

 

            “Nellie, Mrs. Masen tells me you have had a letter from your brother.  I am glad to hear he is well.” 

 

            “Thank you, sir.  He seems as well as one can hope.” 

 

            Edward’s thoughts had returned to the mysterious Bella Swan, and he wasn't listening to what his parents were saying.  He realized his father was asking him what else he and his friends had planned, and he was still distracted as he answered, “Some of us are planning a ballgame for Saturday morning.  Irene and Lillian were already coming to cheer us on.  Violet will join us as well, with her parents' permission.” 

 

            Elizabeth reminded her son they were expected at the Carrington’s for dinner Saturday night. 

 

            “I haven’t forgotten.  I am looking forward to it.” 

 

            Edward's mind drifted to Peter Lord at the hospital and the letter he had received from his friend, Albert.  He and his parents knew so many men already over there fighting or about to ship out, and their family and friends knew more still.  Not wanting to worry him further, he hadn’t told his father all of what Albert wrote to him.  Although he had only been there for such a short while, Albert had told him of wrecked, abandoned villages and destroyed homes, villages where not a single young man remained, only old men, women, and children left to carry on, of homeless and hungry orphaned children, of the ruin and destruction that in such a short time he had already seen.  He wrote of suddenly, fully realizing why they were there and of drilling for hours in the heat, rain, and mud with a sense of purpose and a desire for vengeance.  Edward thought of Peter Lord’s experiences and those of the other soldiers whose cases he had read about in Dr. Rivers’ paper and couldn’t keep the words of Bella’s first letter out of his head.  

 

_...It will be over soon_ …  _An armistice will be signed on November 11th_ … _The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month_ … _The fighting_ will _stop_ …

 

            “Could it be possible?”

 

             “I’m sorry, Edward.  Could what be possible?” 

 

            Edward looked up at his parents and panicked; he hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud.  What else had he said, he worried?  “I’m sorry, Mother, Father.  My headache has worsened.  I think I will say good night, if I may.” 

 

            Worriedly, his mother rose from the table and came over to him.  “Look at you.  You’re trembling.  Dearest, why did you not say something sooner?” 

 

            Edward looked down at his hands; they were in fact shaking. 

 

            A little relieved after feeling his forehead, his mother said, “Still no sign of fever, but your eyes look glassy, and you are as white as a sheet.  Does it hurt anywhere else?  Your throat?” 

           

            Edward stood up and held onto the back of his chair to try to stop the shaking in his hands.  “No.  It is only in my head.” 

 

_“Only in my head_ …. _Oh, dear Lord_ …. _”_  

 

            “By all means, dearest, go.  I will bring you up a nice cup of hot tea with lemon and honey.” 

 

            In spite of feeling like his legs were about to give way, Edward had to smile at that.  Hot tea with lemon and honey was his mother’s remedy for every illness known to man.  Sometimes, if she deemed you ill enough, she added a shot of whiskey.  “Thank you, Mother.  Good night, Father.” 

 

            When he saw how his father was watching him, sitting motionless with his napkin half raised to his face, Edward realized how truly awful he must look; he knew how afraid of a sudden illness his father was.  It had only been two years since his cousin, Mic, had lost the use of his legs to polio.  After feeling poorly for a few days, Mic had gone to bed early one night believing himself to have simply caught a bad cold and awoke the next morning unable to move his legs. 

 

            He could hear his mother reassuring his father as he left the room.  With her nursing background, she knew that a sudden illness was seldom cause for any real concern, simply a cold, or at worst influenza, which would be recovered from in a week’s time leaving you fatigued but no worse for wear.

 

            Edward undressed quickly and prepared for bed.  He desperately wanted to look in his desk but didn’t dare until after his mother brought him his tea and made sure he drank it.  It was only a few moments later that he heard his mother’s footsteps in the hall. 

 

            “Here you are, dearest, nice and hot and strong.  Drink it while it is still hot.” 

            As Edward took the cup from his mother, he was surprised at how good the hot cup felt in his hands.  It had been so hot and sticky today; he hadn’t realized he was cold until he felt the heat from the tea, and he briefly wondered if he was actually getting sick.  Even just the smell of it was helping to calm him; it was so normal, so familiar. 

 

            “I will make your apologies at the hospital tomorrow.” 

 

            Edward hadn’t even thought about tomorrow.  He needed to go the hospital; the men needed him.  They needed the normality of a friend to talk to, and he could not let them down.  “No, Mother, I am sure that will not be necessary.  I am sure I will be fine by tomorrow.” 

 

            Elizabeth looked at him carefully.  “Your eyes do appear clearer, focused, and your color is a bit better.  We will see in the morning.  Now, drink up.” 

 

            Once his mother left him for the night, and after waiting for a moment to make sure she would not hear him or return unexpectedly, Edward ran to his desk and sank into his chair in relief at finding a new letter already there.  “You certainly don’t waste any time, do you, Miss Swan?”

 

_...My name is Isabella Marie Swan.  I am 16, and I live in Phoenix with my mother, Renee Swan..._

 

_Phoenix?  Where is that?_

He couldn’t remember ever hearing of a place called Phoenix.

 

_...Please call me Bella, I think we can do without the formality, don’t you?  I hope you don’t mind me calling you Edward..._

 

            He supposed formality was a bit silly under the circumstances.  If somehow writing to each other as if by magic wasn’t grounds for familiarity, what was?

 

_...I don’t know what’s happening any more than you do.  I’m wondering if I’ve lost my mind, too, but I’ve decided that sanity is highly overrated..._  

 

_Well, at least I will have company at the asylum._

 

_...All I know is the same as what you said.  I found your letter in a hidden compartment in a desk I was given as a gift by a man named Michael Masen.  Your desk..._

 

_My desk?_ Edward became angry.  Apparently, this poor girl had lost her father, and some con artist was not only taking advantage of her and her mother but was impersonating his invalid cousin to do so.  He would have to learn where Phoenix was, find her, and put a stop to it immediately.

 

            _Whoever it is, he must be setting them up, gaining their trust._

 

_...I felt badly for your mother, how worried she must’ve been about you going to war, and I wished there was some way I could let her know there was nothing to worry about.  So, yesterday I wrote the letter and put it in the hidden compartment.  I felt rather silly, and when I went to get it earlier today, it was gone, and yours was there.  Nearly scared me to death, by the way..._

 

            _Gave me quite the scare, too._

 

_...I think whoever it was who told you that some things aren’t meant to be understood, just accepted and appreciated was right..._

 

_It does not appear that I have a choice._

_...Please, write back to me and tell me if you ever learned “Miss New Attorney’s Daughter”’s name._  

 

_Will you_ never _let that one go?_

 

_Your Friend,_

_Bella_

 

_My friend, Bella._

            Edward decided he quite liked that and smiled as he read Bella’s letter through several times.  The paper was like nothing he had ever seen before; it was all torn up along one side, as if some type of machinery had mangled and chewed it up, and there was something about the way she wrote that seemed... odd somehow, but he could not put his finger on it.  Even her handwriting and the pen and ink she used seemed unusual.  As he read the letter through once again, Edward suddenly realized what felt so odd about it and his mouth went dry.  She wrote in the wrong tense.  She wrote that she felt bad about how worried his mother “must have been”, and she wished there was someway she could let her know there “was” nothing to worry about. 

 

            “ _Was” nothing to worry about… not “is” nothing to worry about._

 

            As ridiculous as it seemed, it sounded to him as if she was writing about things that had already happened _._

 

_But that is absurd, impossible..._

            Edward set the letter down and scrubbed his hands over his face. 

 

            _This whole thing is impossible, but it is happening.  Is it really_ that _much more impossible?  Is H.G. Wells worse than Oz?  Could she really have met Mic?  Or be going to meet Mic?  She clearly believes she did, and that she has my desk.  This desk.  Or will.  But what Earthly reason could Mic have for giving Grandfather's desk away?  And why would he have it_ to _give away?_

 

            He picked the letter back up but immediately set it back down and sighed.

 

            _Not dated.  Of course not._

 

            Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

            _She knew how old I am but still asked if I was born in 1901.  Good God, she wasn't questioning my age or when I was born, she was questioning if it was really 1918._  

 

            Again, Edward picked the letter up, only to set it down a moment later, and ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions. 

 

            _“Could she really know when the war will end, because for her, it_ already _has?”_

            If there was one thing that Edward could not stand, it was not knowing something.  He felt he had reached the point where he could accept that something impossible was happening; indeed, he had no choice but to accept it as the proof was in front of him at that very minute, but he at least had to know what that impossible thing was.  For several minutes he sat trying to think of how to ask… what he wanted to ask. 

 

            _How can I ask her, if I can’t even think the words to myself?_

 

            He sat with his face in his hands for a few minutes longer before picking up his pen.

 

_June 25, 1918_

 

_My Dear Bella,_

_I was very pleased to receive your latest letter, because there is something I must ask you.  Please forgive me, but I need to know.  You wrote that the war will end in November, is that the truth?  My family and I know several men fighting over there, and I must know.  I understand I will not be able to tell anyone, they would think me insane or cruel, but please, I must know._

_I truly cannot believe what I am about to write, but it sounds as if you are writing as if, for you, it has already happened, even though, for me, it has not._

_I do not believe I have ever heard of a place called Phoenix.  It is an unusual name, mythical.  Where is it?_

_You will be very pleased to know that “Miss New Attorney’s Daughter”’s name is Violet Carrington.  She is a very sweet girl, not the least bit silly or foolish, merely very shy.  She joined a small group of my friends and me at the theater this afternoon, and we have plans for this weekend as well.  I hope you will forgive my rudeness toward her._

_Please write again as soon as you are able.  I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_

 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

            After putting her letter in the drawer, Bella paced excitedly back and forth across her room trying to calm herself down.  She still needed to call her father, but she could not talk to him in the state she was in, and she forced herself to walk slower and counted to ten at least thirty times before she was ready. 

 

            Sitting cross legged on her bed, she waited for her father to pick up.  It was unlike him not to pick up by the third ring, and she checked her phone to make sure she had dialed the right number.  After three more rings, his answering machine picked up, and she was just about to leave a message that she would call back in a few minutes when he answered, sounding completely out of breath. 

 

            “Dad?  What did you do, run all the way from the rez?” 

 

            “What? The rez, oh, um, no.  Actually, I haven’t been to the rez for while.” 

 

            Bella was surprised to hear anger in her father’s voice and even more so at the sadness behind it. 

 

            “What?  Why?  You’re at the rez as much as you're at home.  What happened?” 

 

            Her father was quiet for a long moment before answering, and when he did the anger was gone; he just sounded hurt. 

 

            “Me and Billy had a fight.” 

 

            Her big, strong, Chief of Police father sounded like a little boy whose best friend had just said he didn’t want to play with him anymore.  Bella was shocked.  She didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t that.  Billy and her dad had been friends forever, and she had never known them to have a fight.  “That’s terrible, Dad.  What happened?” 

 

            She could hear him let out a breath, and when he first answered her, it was like the words were being ripped from him against his will... but then the dam broke.  “I don’t know.  I don’t understand him, Bells.  I’ve never known him to not like someone before _–_ I mean, at least, you know, not without good reason _–_ but he just won’t listen.  It’s like, I don’t know, and it’s not just him.  It’s the entire tribe.  They’ve been like that since they moved here, but it’s getting worse, and now, with Tanya, he’s just, he went too far, and he just won’t listen.  You’d think they’d killed someone.  The whole town talks about them, but on the rez, you wouldn’t believe what he said, and he’s never even met her, he’s never met any of them, none of them have, and the elders have actually told people to stop going to the hospital.  Can you believe that?” 

 

            Bella had no idea what her father was asking her if she could believe, because she'd lost him right after, “I've never known him to not like someone before.”  Her father was not normally one who spoke about his feelings, _at all_ , and she could tell that speech had been brewing for quite some time. Even if she hadn’t been able to understand most of it.  “They’ve been like what since who moved to town, and whose Tanya?” 

 

            “The Cullens.  Dr. Cullen and his family, his wife and kids.  Well, they’re not all their kids, two are cousins of Esme’s, Mrs. Cullen’s that is.  They moved here about a year ago from Alaska.  Tanya is a cousin of theirs.  She’s visiting.”  Her father hesitated for a moment before continuing somewhat defensively, “I know it’s... a little... unusual, but it’s not illegal.  Their not actually related, well, some of them are, by adoption.  If it was them, then yeah, that could be a problem, but it’s not.” 

 

            Bella’s head was starting to spin.  Her father sounded so unlike himself, she was beginning to hear the theme to the Twilight Zone in her head.  “What’s a little unusual?” 

 

            It was a moment before her father answered, “Dr. Cullen and his wife have three adopted teenagers, and Mrs. Cullen’s two teenage cousins live with them, too.  They’re second cousins.”  There was another pause before he continued, and when he did, he sounded like Police Chief Swan testifying in court. “Mrs. Cullen’s cousins are dating two of the Cullens adopted children.” 

 

            Bella didn’t know what to say.  She could only imagine the scandal that would cause in a small town like Forks.  Who was she kidding?  It would cause talk in Phoenix too.  “Wow, that’s… that’s definitely… unusual.” 

 

            “I know it seems a little weird, and it’s got some people all worked up.  But they’re only second cousins and only on paper; there’s no blood relation, and they weren’t even raised as cousins.  People around here should worry about what their own kids are getting up to and keep their noses out of other people’s business.  The way the people in this town look down their noses at them, just because they’re new to town.  The Cullens are good people.  The doctor, he’s a real world class surgeon, Bells.  He could go to any hospital anywhere and make a hell of a lot more than he could ever make here.  We’re lucky his wife wanted to live in a small town.” 

 

            Bella was stunned.  She couldn’t remember her father ever making that long of a speech before.  “Is that why the Quileutes don’t like them?  Sounds a bit stupid.  Seems a bit extreme to stop going to the hospital.  If he’s that good of a doctor, what do they care about his family’s private lives?  Is that what you and Billy fought about?” 

 

            Her father, who had a moment ago spoken so forcefully, now seemed to have trouble answering her.  “Um, no.  No, it wasn’t.  He, um, he… said some things… and I said some things… and… um… yeah.” 

 

            “Dad, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t mean to pry.”

 

            “No, no.  It’s not that.  He just, he said some things… about... about Tanya… and I said some things… and… yeah.” 

 

            _Tanya?  The cousin?  Why would Billy saying something about her make him lose it?  Wait..._ Her _. Tanya.  Ooooh._

 

As much as she hated that her dad and his oldest friend were fighting, Bella hoped it was what she thought it might be, and she tried to keep the smile on her face out of her voice.  “Dad, who’s Tanya?”     

 

            “She’s, she’s Esme Cullen’s cousin.  I thought, I thought I said that already.”

 

            _Oh, yes._

 

It was looking like it was what she thought it looked like it was.  “Yes, you did, but if this has been going on since they moved there, _a year ago_ , why did you lose it now, when Billy said something about her?  What happened?”  Bella was so excited that she was actually bouncing in place.

 

            _“Answer me that one, Father dear.”_  

 

            Her father’s answer was so jumbled she couldn’t understand a word of it. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.” 

 

            He let out a breath, and he answered her slowly.  “I said, she asked me out.” 

 

            Bella squealed and did a happy dance sitting down on her bed at her father’s confirmation.  It was even better than she'd hoped- _she'd_ asked _him_ out. 

 

            Her father misunderstood her silence.  “Unbelievable, I know.” 

 

            “NO!  It’s not unbelievable at all, Dad.  Why would you say that?” 

 

            “Bells, you haven't seen her.  She’s, she’s unbelievable.  They’re all unbelievable, but, she’s just… unbelievable.” 

 

            “Pretty, huh?” 

 

            “Pretty?  Bells, she’s… she’s….” 

 

            “Unbelievable?” 

 

            “You’re a real comedian, Bells.” 

 

            “Sorry, she’s beautiful, I take it?”      

           

            “Beautiful doesn’t come close.” 

 

            “This is so great, Dad.  What did you do, where did you take her?”            

 

            “We went to Seattle for the day.” 

 

            “A whole day, that’s some first date.  It went well I take it?” 

 

            “Um, yeah, it, um, it went... well.” 

 

            Bella dropped her phone.  _Just_ how well _did this date go?_

 

            “You’re going to make me beg for details, aren’t you?  What did you do on your all day long date in Seattle that went well?” 

 

            “Just, you know, touristy stuff.  Went up in the Space Needle, I’d never actually done that before.  It’s weird.  You can’t see the building beneath you.  It was cloudy, but visibility was still pretty good.  Little windy though, and the building sways in the wind.  I was pretty glad to get back down.  Walked along Alki Beach, ate there.  Went to the lighthouse.” 

 

            “That sounds really nice, Dad.  Are you going to see her again?” 

 

            “Um, yeah.  Actually, Bells, she’s coming over soon.  We’re going to watch a movie.  I was just straightening up the house when you called.” 

 

            “Gotcha.  You gotta go.  I’ll talk to you later.” 

 

            “Good night, Bells.” 

 

            “Night, Dad.”

 

            Bella sat at her desk, grinning like a loon for several minutes after hanging up the phone.  She knew she should study a bit, but she knew she’d never be able to concentrate.  She was so happy for her dad.  As far as she knew, he hadn’t dated anyone since her mom.  It was too bad she lived in Alaska, though. 

 

            Thinking about Billy Black's reaction was the only thing that dimmed Bella’s good mood.  Why would he want to ruin this for her dad?  He’d had a long, happy marriage himself, and her dad was there for him and his kids when his wife passed away and then again when he ended up in a wheelchair due to his diabetes.  She didn’t really know him, she more knew _of_ him, but she didn’t think he was so judgmental.  Her dad was a good judge of character; if he said these Cullens were good people, then they were good people.  If Billy knew something about them, then, of course, that would be different.   But how could he, and why wouldn’t he have come out and said so when they first moved to town?

 

            Thinking about her dad, Bella smiled again.  He was never comfortable expressing his feelings, but to hear him stumbling over his words trying to describe this Tanya and rambling on and on, he had it bad. 

 

_God, please, don’t let him get hurt again._

            Eventually, she did pull her books out and study for a while and was sitting at her desk looking over the rough draft of her book report on _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ when her mother came to tell her good night.  Tired, Bella decided her rough draft was good enough, piled all of her books on the corner of her desk, and got ready for bed.  Before going to bed, Bella decided to check the drawer, not really expecting anything since it hadn’t been very long since she put her letter there, and was both surprised and thrilled to find a new letter waiting for her.  Climbing into bed, Bella curled up to read Edward’s latest letter. 

 

_..._ _Please forgive me, but I need to know.  You wrote that the war will end in November, is that the truth?  My family and I know several men fighting over there, and I must know.  I understand I will not be able to tell anyone, they would think me insane or cruel, but please, I must know..._

 

_Oh, Edward, there's nothing to forgive.  I know how hard that must be to believe.  It must seem like too much to hope for._

_…_ _I cannot believe what I am about to write, but it sounds as if you are writing as if, for you, it has already happened, even though , for me, it has not._ _.._

 

            Bella laughed.  _Got it in one._   She could almost picture him trying to think of how to ask that.  _How do you ask someone if they’re from the future?_

_...I do not believe I have ever heard of a place called Phoenix.  It is an unusual name, where is it?..._

 

_How can you possibly have never heard of Phoenix?  Oh, right.  1918.  I wonder what the population of Phoenix was in 1918.  Still though, it’s a state capital.  Be honest though, how many state capitals do_ you _remember?_

_...You will be very pleased to know that “Miss New Attorney’s Daughter”’s name is Violet Carrington.  She is a very sweet girl, not the least bit silly or foolish, merely very shy.  She joined a small group of my friends and me at the theater this afternoon, and we have plans for this weekend as well.  I hope you will forgive my rudeness toward her..._

 

_You’re forgiven.  Hmmmm.  I wonder just how very sweet you think she is?  He went to the theater.  Did he mean a play or a movie?  I wonder if I should tell him “Guess what, movies talk now.” after all.  “Oh, and by the way, not only do they talk, but they are in color and some are in 3-D.”_

_...Please write again as soon as you are able.  I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_

 

_My friend, Edward.  I think I like the sound of that._

            Good mood now fully restored, Bella tried to think of what she could say to assure him that the end of the war was coming soon.  There was something she remembered, but she didn't know exactly when it happened; it may have happened already.  She’d have to look it up to check.  She was pretty sure her mother had already gone to bed, but if not, she'd just assume she was looking up something for school. 

 

            The computer was in the living room.  This was one of the few things her mother ever went all “I am your mother, and I said so,” about.  She insisted on keeping the computer in a “public room of the house” because she saw a news report on T.V. about a teenage girl who had been sexually assaulted and murdered by someone she'd met Online.  The girl was only thirteen, and she believed the person she was talking to was a fourteen year old boy.  He wasn’t.  He was a 48 year old Megan’s Law pedophile.  The expert being interviewed for the show said computers should be kept “in a public room of the house”, and her mother took it to heart. 

 

            Their computer, bought second hand from the school district when they upgraded, was about five years old and really slow.  Finally, she got Online and found what she was looking for. 

 

            _Bingo.  July.  Perfect._

 

            While reading, she found a link, _July 17, 1918,_ clicked on it, and was taken to a page that listed all the historical events from 1918 by date.  She looked at June and July. 

 

            _Wow._   _The trial his father is working on is_ actually _listed.  How cool is that?_

 

She searched for any information she could find about the trial, but all she could find was information about the arrest, nothing about the trial or the outcome. 

 

            _No good.  He already knows about that._

 

            She went back to the 1918 page and found something else. 

 

            _Oh.  I didn’t know that.  “_... _torpedoed on 17 July 1918 off the east coast of Ireland..._ _...German submarine U-55...  ...killing five crewmen....” Oh, that’s good.  Well, no, it’s obviously not_ good _, but it will work._

 

She also looked up the historical population of Phoenix. 

 

            _Oh.  In 1920 the population was only about 29,000.  No wonder he’s never heard of it.  I’m sure he studied the state capitals, but, really, who remembers them?_  

 

            After printing the pages she needed, Bella went back to her room to write.

 

_Dear Edward,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Charlie tells Bella about the Cullens, Bella's reaction is almost exactly as it was in the book when she's told about their dating each other, as is Charlie's description of Carlisle being able to work somewhere else for more money.
> 
>  
> 
> Historical notes - 
> 
> The Masens' maid and cook have planted a Victory Garden. Victory Gardens were very common and very strongly encouraged by the government to supplement the nation's food supply, and by the end of the war, there were over five million victory gardens. 
> 
> I also mentioned Meatless Mondays and Wheatless Wednesdays. In 1917 President Woodrow Wilson appointed Herbert Hoover to head the U. S. Food Administration. Under Hoover, through campaigns like MM and WW, the U.S. population avoided mandatory rationing and voluntarily reduced the nation's food intake by 15% and in a one year period between 1918 – 1919 provided 18,500,000 tons of food for the allies. In November 1917, New York City hotels saved 116 tons of meat over the course of just one week. 
> 
> In the summer of 1916 New York City suffered a polio outbreak with over 2000 deaths. “The names and addresses of individuals with confirmed polio cases were published daily in the press, their houses were identified with placards, and their families were quarantined.” - Wikipedia
> 
> Spiral notebooks first appeared in 1934 and were featured in Popular Science that September in an article on new inventions, so Edward would never have seen anything like a piece of paper ripped out of a spiral notebook. 
> 
> The movie Edward and Carlisle discussed in both the last chapter and this one, The Million Dollar Mystery, was released in 1914 as a serial of 23 chapters which would be played before the main feature film. The movie follows a secret society called “The Black Hundred” as they go in search of a lost one million dollars. It was later released as a feature in June of 1918, which puts it in with our story. In 1914, the serial was released with the gimmick that the last chapter was unwritten, and a contest was held for the public to send in the final chapter with a prize of $10,000. It was advertised as “$10,000 for 100 words.” There were thousands of entries, and a secretary from St. Louis won the prize. (I happen to be a secretary, so you rock sister :-]) The main star, Florence LaBadie, played a character named Florence Hargreaves, who was actually reported missing as a publicity stunt. Plot details were fed to newspapers and the police as if they were real, and it took a week before they were found out. Florence LaBadie was hugely popular at the time. She died from injuries from a car accident in 1917. She was 29 when she died. No copies of the film are known to exist today. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

            Edward lay in his bed, wide awake, and staring at the ceiling. 

            _It’s only been two hours.  It’s too soon.  It’s only been two hours.  It’s too soon.  Do you really think she lives only to write to you?  It’s too soon.  Go to sleep.  It’s the middle of the night for crying out loud; you need to go to sleep.  Look in the morning._  

            He had been repeating this to himself since he went to bed but was, if anything, even more wide awake now.  Impatient, he looked at the clock in his room and groaned. 

_It’s only been two hours and ten minutes.  It’s too soon.  Go to sleep._

            Finally giving it up as a lost cause, Edward turned on the electric light beside his bed and went to his desk.  Finding a letter there waiting for him, his green eyes lit up, and he laughed out loud. 

_Dear Edward,_

_I think we’ve fallen into Oz.  I feel like Dorothy.  You’re right, it’s not 1918 anymore._

 

_I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to believe the war will be over soon.  I know it must seem like too much to hope for, but I remembered something that will happen soon, and I hope it will help you to believe me.  Czar Nicholas and his family are being held by the Bolsheviks, as I’m sure you must know.  They will all be assassinated on July 17th.  There will be an official announcement a couple days later that the Czar was killed, but not only won’t include his family, it will specifically say that his wife and heir were taken to “a place of security”.  I remembered learning about the assassination, but I couldn’t remember exactly when it happened.  The announcement will say the 16 th, but it was actually just after midnight on the 17th.  _

_Believe it or not, when I looked up the information on the Czar, I found a reference to the case your father is working on, the restaurant poisonings, but I couldn’t find anything about the trial or outcome.  I don’t know why.  It seems strange that I could find the arrests, but nothing else.  Maybe with the end of the war, they had too much else to report on._

_I found something else that will happen on that same day, but I'm afraid it isn't any better news.  On July 17, 1918, the RMS Carpathia will be sunk by a German U-boat off the east coast of Ireland.  U-55.  Five crewmen will be killed, and the surviving crew and 57 passengers will be rescued by the HMS Snowdrop the following day._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t find some good news to give you.  I’m afraid history only records the bad stuff.  Your letter is dated June 25th, so these things will happen in about three weeks.  I know it will be difficult for you to know people are going to die and there is nothing you can do, but I hope it will reassure you that the war really will end soon._

_I was sorry to read about the sinking of the Carpathia.  I remember the Carpathia from the sinking of the Titanic.  My mother and I went to a traveling exhibit of artifacts from the Titanic when it was here in Phoenix last year.  It was incredible.  I can’t believe that’s really the world you live in.  Mine is so different._

_Phoenix is the capital of Arizona.  I should have realized the population was much, much smaller in your time.  Today, it is a very large city.  Not as big as Chicago, though._

_I'm very glad you are friends with Violet now.  I am very shy myself.  When you went to the theater, did you see a play or a movie?  I do have some good news for you, at least.  Guess what, movies talk now.  What are your plans for this weekend?  Another movie?  I’ve never seen a silent movie.  I’ll have to see if I can find one online._

_Write soon and tell me what else you and your friends do.  I know you volunteer at the Red Cross and hospital, what do you do there?  Do your friends go with you?  Tomorrow is Monday, so I have school.  It’s February for me.  I’m sure I won’t be able to concentrate on anything.  I certainly wasn’t able to today._

_Your Friend,_

_Bella_

            Edward could not believe what he was reading. 

            _Well, you wanted to know how she knew the war would end.  Now, you know._

            He really had realized she was not… from his time, but to see her confirm it… was overwhelming. 

            _It’s not 1918 anymore._   _When is it?  When are you, Bella?_

            Fully amazed, he sat there several minutes thinking about everything she'd written. 

            _The Czar and his family will be assassinated._

            That, he had no trouble believing.  The Czar, at least.  Lord knows there had been enough rumors regarding the fate of the Czar already reported in the papers.

            _The Czarina and the children, too, though.  I can believe they would leave that out of their official announcement.  Admitting to killing defenseless women and a child in cold blood would not win any support for their cause._

Edward yawned deeply and coughed.  He shivered suddenly and was surprised how cold he was.  It had been so hot as of late, how could he be so cold? 

            _The Carpathia will be sunk?  That’s not such a surprise either.  It is terrible, of course, but it could hardly be a surprise after all this time.  Lord knows, the damn Krauts have sunk other ships before.  Just weeks ago, the bastards sunk the President Lincoln.  But she knows so many details...  Of course she does, could you not look up anything you chose to in the encyclopedia?_

_She found a reference to Father’s case while looking up the date of the Czar’s assassination?  Where could those two things_ possibly _be referenced together?_ Why _would they be?_  

            “In three weeks,”  Edward muttered to himself. 

            _She’s been to a traveling exhibit of Titanic artifacts?  In Heaven's name,_ why _?  What could the exhibit possibly contain?  A few lifeboats and life jackets?_

_My world is different from hers? How so?_

_What does she mean by finding a silent movie–as opposed to one that talks–online?  What's “online”?  Perhaps she meant to write “on line”?  On line?  Must be what they call the theater district, like we have the Loop.  Who in their right mind would chose to see a movie that does not talk when they could see one that does?  Well, that settles it then, doesn't it?  We really have both lost our marbles._

“Tell me about your world, Bella, with your talking movies.  I can’t imagine you as shy.  Tell me what you and your friends do.”  He wanted to write back right away, but now that he had his answers, Edward realized how tired he was.  It was the middle of the night already, after all.  _“_ Good night, Bella.  I will write again soon, and I want you to tell me all about your world.”  

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO 

            “Miss Swan, please see me after class.” 

            “Yes, Mrs. Brewster.” 

            It was now Wednesday, and Bella had not heard from Edward since Sunday.  She'd woken up Monday morning so excited to check for a letter that she tripped twice in the five feet from her bed to her desk, but there was no letter.  All day long at school, she'd been able to think of nothing but getting home and looking in the desk, but when she finally, finally got home there was still no letter.  Tuesday was the same, worse actually, as on Tuesday and Thursday she had gym–which Bella hated more than almost anything–and gym yesterday was even worse than normal.  They were playing soccer, which meant running while trying to kick a ball at the same time.  Normally, they only threw the humiliations at her one at a time, but now they were hitting her with two at once.  She couldn’t run without falling down, and she couldn’t kick a ball while standing still without falling down, and they wanted her to do both at the same time.  Needless to say, she'd fallen down repeatedly, even taking someone else down with her once.  The one thing that had gotten her through it was the hope of a letter when she got home, but again, there was none.  Again this morning she'd hoped to find something, but there had still been nothing.  Bella didn’t know if she should be mad or hurt.  Edward had written three times on Sunday, and now nothing since then. 

            _Does he not want to write to me anymore, now that I told him what he wanted to know?_

            Somehow, Bellacouldn’t make herself believe that.

            _Was I too blunt? “It’s not 1918 anymore.”  What was I thinking just coming out and hitting him with it like that?  I couldn’t have broken it a little more gently?  Did I freak him out telling him about the Czar and the Carpathia?  Does he just need a few days to come to terms with what’s happening?  Has he decided this is just too weird?  Does he think I’m making it up?  Making fun of him or lying to him?  Is something wrong?  Did he not get my letter? Has something happened?  Is he sick?  Should I be worried?_

Filled with anxiety that had grown daily, Bella hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything all week and had been caught not paying attention in several classes.  She was a very good student, so her teachers had been letting it slide, but it looked like her luck had run out.  She was in biology, her last class of the day, and her teacher, Mrs. Brewster, had caught her not paying attention again.  There were only ten minutes left to class, and Bella resolved to force herself to focus on what the teacher was talking about.  She couldn’t go on like this.  Edward would either write back or he wouldn’t, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

            Once the bell rang, Bella gathered her things slowly as the rest of the class hurried toward the door.  She had never been kept after school before in her life, and she was dreading her first time.  What was she going to say _?_ “I’m sorry, but you see, my 108-year-old pen pal hasn’t written back, and I don't know if I should be hurt, angry, or worried.” 

            As they passed her on their way out the door, several of her classmates cast odd glances in her direction, and once the class was empty, Bella took her things and went up to the teacher's desk.  She’d run through different excuses in her head and decided to go with not feeling well.  She was naturally very pale; she could pull off not feeling well.  If she went with something like trouble at home, her mother might be called. 

            “Please sit down, Bella.” 

            Taking a seat in front of Mrs. Brewster's desk, Bella watched as her teacher came around and took the desk next to it. 

            “Bella, is there anything going on you’d like to talk about?  It's completely out of character for you to not pay attention in class.” 

            “I’m sorry, Mrs. Brewster, I just... I haven’t been feeling well the past few days, and I haven‘t been able to sleep.  Maybe I should have just stayed home.” 

            Bella knew she was a horrible liar, but she'd once heard someone on T.V. say the best way to lie well is to keep as much of the truth as possible.  Well, she really hadn’t been feeling _well_ , so to speak, and she _hadn’t_ been able to sleep.  It was, quite honestly, none of her teacher’s business as to why. 

            Mrs. Brewster looked at her doubtfully.  “Are you sure that’s all?  I’ve spoken to your other teachers; they’ve all noticed a change in your behavior these past couple days.  Is everything at home OK?  Is there a problem here at school with another student?” 

            Bella tried to reassure her teacher everything was fine so she could get out of there, but she was afraid if she seemed too anxious to leave, it would make her more suspicious. 

            _Really, there are over seven hundred kids in the sophomore class alone; surely, there have to be kids somewhere in this school who honestly need help.  Why can’t the teachers go gang up on them?_

Clearly unconvinced and disappointed that Bella hadn't confided in her, her teacher reluctantly relented.  “If you're sure, then.  You’re a good student, Bella, but if you continue to not pay attention in class, your grades will begin to suffer, and you will end up with detention.” 

            “I understand, Mrs. Brewster, and I’m sorry.  I’m sure it’s just a bug or something.  It’ll pass.  If I don’t feel better tomorrow, I’ll stay home.” 

            “Very well.  Please remember, my door is always open if you ever feel the need to talk about anything.” 

            So relieved was Bella to get out of that room that she all but ran out the door without watching where she was going and ran straight into someone waiting in the hall and dropped all her books.  This week just kept getting better and better.  Bending over to pick them up and grumbling to herself, Bella   could not believe her ears when the person she'd run into bent down to help her. 

            “That was quite a hit, Bella.  You should try out for the football team.” 

            _Jason?  JASON!?  He’s talking to me now?  NOW!?_

Smiling a very uncomfortable, forced-looking smile, Jason picked up her books and handed them to her.  His smile was nothing like the way he'd smiled at her when it was just the two of them working together on their project; then, his entire face had lit up.  But, of course, Bella realized, they weren't alone now.  Three of the other guys from the baseball team were standing behind him.  She seethed silently; the prick was embarrassed to have to acknowledge knowing her in front of his friends. 

            _Oh, I am soooo making a Jason voodoo doll and getting the biggest freaking pins I can find._   _Upholstery pins...  They must be big.  Or nails._

_“_ How have you been, Bella?  Guys, this is Bella.  We did that project for Crawford’s class together.  This is Anderson, Mark, and Kyle.”  He pointed out his friends as he introduced them to her.       _What is he doing?  He’s trying to act friendly, but he looks like he’d rather have pins stuck his eyes than be here.  Oh, that’s good.  Now I know where to put the second and third pins._  

            Just then, Bella realized two things at the same time.  First, that she'd smiled widely as she thought that, and second, that these three idiots were so full of themselves, they assumed she was smiling because of them, because she was happy to meet to them. 

            _Jason voodoo doll might just get himself some buddies._

            At that thought, she had to fight not to laugh out loud. 

            “So, how’ve you been?” 

            Bella was so happily sticking great big mental pins in little mental voodoo dolls that she didn’t hear a word of what Jason had just said.  “I’m sorry, I was just... thinking... about something.  What did you say?” 

            Jason's already uncomfortable smile grew even more so. 

            _What's he playing at?  He could’ve just said good bye and left by now.  Why is he still here?_            As Jason looked more and more uncomfortable, Bella started to feel more confident

            “I just asked how you’ve been doing.” 

            “Oh.  I’m fine.  How’ve you been?”  _Should I, shouldn’t I, should I, shouldn’t I, should I, shouldn’t I…  Oh, hell.  I should._ “So, how was Brittney?  Was it good?” 

Jason's eyes opened comically wide, and he looked like he forgot how to breathe.  Behind him, Larry, Curly, and Mo looked like they were impersonating gold fish, repeatedly opening and closing their mouths without ever uttering a sound.        

            Once Jason regained his breath, he barely choked out something that sounded a little like, “What!?” 

            _Smile politely, Bella, look innocent._

“You said you had a date with Brittney Logan.  I was just asking how it went.  Did it go well?  It was Valentine's Day, wasn‘t it?” 

            Jason was gulping air by now and appeared ready to hyperventilate at any moment.  Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest had managed to shut their mouths.  Jason's words were jumbled, rambling.  “Oh, right, um, yeah, she was, IT WAS, I mean _it_ was, the _date_ , I mean the _date_ , it was good, the date I mean, the date was, um....” 

            Smiling innocently up at him, Bella acted like she had no idea what she had said or what he was trying desperately not to say.  “Good?  That’s good.” 

            _Well, that was fun, but I have a desk waiting for me at home, hopefully with a letter in it._      “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.” 

            She turned and started to walk away, but Jason came after her and put his hand on her shoulder. Her first impulse was to shrug it off, but she resisted, and he removed it on his own a moment later.  “Do you have to go so soon?  I thought... maybe we could talk for a while.” 

            _Why?_   “Oh, um, OK.  What did you want to talk about?” 

            Jason ran his hand through his hair nervously and looked everywhere but at her.  “Um, nothing in particular.  Just... anything.”  He looked over his should back at his friends, who were all giving him impatient looks and stepped closer to whisper to her.  “Is everything OK?  I mean, you never get kept after class.”      

            _He’s worried about me?_ “Oh, um, no, everything is fine.  It was nothing.”  _He does look relieved.  Was he actually worried about me?_

            “So, how’s your mom?” 

            “My mom?  She’s fine.” 

            “Oh, good.  Um... so... is, ah, is she... still seeing that guy?” 

            “Phil?  Yeah, they’re engaged, actually.” 

            Jason brightened up a little but still looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.  “Oh, really?  That’s, that’s, great.  I, um, you, ah, you said he was a ballplayer, right?” 

            “Yeah, minor league.  He just started spring training.” 

            “Right, spring training.  He’s... probably really busy then, right?” 

            “Yeah, he’s pretty busy.” 

            Bella glanced at his friends as Jason struggled to find something to say; the impatient looks had turned into glares. 

            _What’s their problem?  Honestly, it’s only been a few minutes.  Feel free to leave.  Really, Jason, these are the people you want for friends?  Really?  Why?_

            “So, um, Bella, listen...  I was... ah... I was thinking, um... we were, actually,”  Jason indicated his friends behind him,  “...we were... wondering... if maybe, if he wasn’t too busy, I mean, if maybe... he could... maybe come by the field someday–just for a little while, I mean–maybe give us some pointers....  If he’s not too busy, I mean.” 

            His words had been so jumbled that it took a second or two for Bella to make sense of what he said.  It took several more to calm herself down once she did. 

            Silently, she raged.  _You haven’t spoken to me once_ in weeks _, and now, when you do, you pretend to be concerned about me so you can use me to get to Phil?  For me to get him to come to your practice?  Are you for real?_   Out loud she said, “Oh, I’m sorry.  He can’t.  It’s in his contract, I mean.  They’re not allowed.  Something about being representatives of the team.  They’re not allowed to do anything baseball related unless it’s arranged by the team.” 

            She would’ve sworn Jason actually looked relieved, except that would make no sense at all.         “Oh.  That make sense.” 

_Yeah, actually, it does.  I’m glad I thought of it._

Apparently, now that they knew they weren’t getting what they wanted, his friends were ready to leave.  “Jay, man, we gotta go.  Practice is in ten, man.” 

            Looking back at his friends, Jason told them to just go on without him; he’d be right there.           “Coach’ll make you run laps if you late, dude.” 

            He looked at them again, growing visibly irritated now.  “I won’t be late.  Just go already.”  He watched as they walked away with a mumbled “whatever” before turning back to her, and when he did he looked more at the wall behind her than at her.  “I’m sorry about that, Bella.” 

            Even as angry as she was, Bella had to admit, he did look sorry.  “Don’t worry about it.” 

            Jason met her eyes and smiled; the smile didn't look forced, but it did look sad.  “I guess I'd better go.” 

            “Yeah, don’t want to have to run laps.” 

            In spite of his words, he made no move to leave.  “Listen, are you sure everything is OK?  I mean, I couldn’t believe it when Kyle said you got kept after class.” 

            Crap.  How was she supposed to stay angry now?  “Really, I’m fine.  You won’t be though if you're late to practice.” 

            “Yeah.  Well, I guess I’ll see you around.” 

            “Yeah, see you.” 

            Bella turned and walked away without looking back.  If she had, she would have seen him watching her. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ 

            “What do you think?  Beef or chicken?  We really should have the fish, I think, but what should we have for the second entrée?” 

            At the stove, Bella was browning ground beef for dinner while her mother looked over menu options.  It would be a small wedding, and they had found a hall that would be perfect.  It was beautiful and had a wall of French doors that opened onto a patio littered with dozens of colorful planters filled with even more colorful flowers. 

            “I don’t know.  Do you think Phil would rather the beef?” 

            “He might.  I’ll mark the beef.  I can always change it if he’d rather the chicken.  Two vegetables...  green beans, broccoli, corn, or mixed?  Green beans and corn?” 

            “Sounds good.  The broccoli would probably be either raw or mushy, and you don't like lima beans.” 

            “Lastly, mashed potatoes and gravy.  Good, that’s done.  I’ll just make sure it’s good with Phil.  It’s after six, he should be here soon.” 

            Phil hadn’t actually moved in officially yet, but he may as well have.  He was there every day anyway.  Bella had worried a little about how it would be to have a man around the house, but so far, it had gone smoothly.  Second bathrooms really were wonderful things. 

            Coming up behind her, her mother asked what was for dinner. 

            “Beef with noodles and gravy.”        

            “Smells great, honey.  Where did you say you and your dad were going for Easter?”

             Bella made sure to keep her back to her mother as she answered, “Actually, I was thinking, maybe we would just stay in Forks this year.” 

            The surprise in her mother’s voice was audible.  “You can’t be serious.” 

            “I am.  I mean, it’s only five days, right?  How bad could Forks be for five days, and we could always go to Seattle for the day.” 

            “But... Forks? _Why?_ ” 

            “Well, anywhere we go is going to be crowded, and you know how much I just love crowds.  Besides, Forks must have _some_ redeeming features.” 

            “Name one.”

            _My dad lives there._   “I won’t get a sunburn.” 

            Renee laughed.  “OK, I’ll give you that one.  Name another one.” 

            “There’s a new book coming out the end of March I want to read.  I’ll have plenty of time.”         Her mother looked like she just told her she wanted to spend her Easter vacation on Mars.  “But... Bella, _it’s Forks_.” 

            “Yes, and it’s only five days.” 

             “Baby, you have no idea how long five days in Forks can be.”  

__________________________________________________________________________________ 

            “It was great!  I wish you’d been there, Renee.  You should’ve seen it!  It was great!  I didn’t think I had any chance of getting to it.  I was playing shallow, and the ball just carried.   I really didn't think I had a chance.  I thought it was gone, but it hung up there, and I timed the jump perfect, and I snow-coned it just as it went over the wall...”  Phil sighed dreamily and sat back.  “It was perfect.”  His face was lit up with the smile he’d had since he got home, clearly reliving his moment.  Whatever, exactly, it had been.  Since getting home about an hour ago, he'd told them that story at least five times.  Neither Renee nor Bella had any idea what it meant, but they didn’t have the heart to let on.  Phil always looked so disappointed when they didn't understand him when he spoke Baseball, and he was so excited about whatever he was talking about, they just played along.  Once, when he left the room to answer a call, they shared their “look it up later” look.  They had perfected that look in the past few months. 

            Bella couldn’t understand what people liked so much about baseball.  It seemed like a lot of standing around waiting for something to happen to her.  Her father and Phil had both tried to explain it to her, but it seemed too complicated to be fun to her.  Sometimes, when you hit the ball it counted and sometimes it didn’t; sometimes, when it didn’t count you got a strike and sometimes you didn’t; sometimes, you got one of those strike things when you didn’t even swing and sometimes you didn’t; and sometimes-and this was the best part-sometimes, you got on base without ever swinging.  Bella would never understand that last one: if you could get on base without swinging, why swing at all?   

            Thinking about baseball reminded her of Edward.  Not that she ever stopped thinking about him for very long, but since being kept after school this afternoon, she was trying to not think about him every single minute.  She’d forced herself not to run straight to her room as soon as she got home and check again to see if he had written to her yet, refusing to be one of those girls who sat by the phone waiting for it to ring–or in her case, sitting by the desk waiting for a letter.  She knew Phil and her mother were going to a movie after dinner, and her plan was to wait until then to look. 

            “Mom, didn’t you say your movie was at 9:00?  It’s almost twenty after eight.”  _I’m not trying to rush them.  Really, I’m not.  I just don’t want them to be late.  They’d have to sit way up front._ “You don’t want to be late.” 

            Renee looked at her watch, surprised.  “It’s that late already?  We should go, Phil, I didn’t realize it was that late already.” 

            It took another ten minutes before Bella finally got the door shut behind them and had the house to herself.  She resisted the urge to shout for joy and managed to walk at a normal pace to her room, but now that she was at her desk, she hesitated before opening the drawer and realized she was nervous.          _And here I thought I’ve been being patient, but have I really been just stalling all afternoon?  Afraid to be disappointed again?  Right, well, he’s either written back or he hasn’t._

She sat down, opened the hidden compartment, and smiled. 

_June 28, 1918_

_My Dear Bella,_

_Please excuse me for not having responded to your letter sooner.  Normally, I have a very strong constitution and am rarely sick, but I have been ill and am only just today out of bed._

_I cannot thank you enough for confirming that the war truly will end soon.  I was afraid of offending you.  Please, do not think I doubted your word, but it is exactly as you said, it seems too much to hope for._

_It's funny you should mention the Oz books.  I had felt that as well; however, it seems H. G. Wells is more appropriate.  Are you familiar with his books as well?  What other books have you read that I would know?  “The Time Machine” was one of my favorite books as a child.  I never could have imagined I would be a time traveler of a sort myself.  I confess, I still wonder if I am dreaming or mad.  It seems inconceivable that I am writing to a girl who lives in a different time._

_There is something I am very curious about.  You wrote that you remembered the Carpathia from a traveling exhibit of artifacts from the Titanic.  I cannot imagine why anyone would offer an exhibit of nothing but some lifeboats and life jackets or why anyone would wish to see it.  How could you possibly consider them incredible?  I would think compared to your talking movies they would be very boring.  I cannot imagine a movie that talks.  What that must be like?  Why ever would you wish to see a silent movie, as you called them, when you could see one that talks?  You write that your world is so different from mine, but you have me at a disadvantage.  You know what my world is like, but I know nothing of yours, other than that your movies talk and you enjoy very boring exhibits.  I do not even know when your world is.  Please tell me?_

_You asked about my friends and my volunteer work.  The featured movie we saw is called “The Million Dollar Mystery”. It is a feature film now, but was released as a serial over several months a few years ago.  I must admit, I do not remember anything of it or of anything else.  I was a bit preoccupied with the small matter of letter that had suddenly appeared in my desk.  Tomorrow is Saturday, and we plan to go to a local park and play baseball.  Violet and some other girls are coming as well to watch._

_I volunteer at a local hospital with some men suffering from shell shock.  I sit and visit with them.  We talk and play cards mostly.  I give notes of our conversations to the doctors.  Many of the men’s families live too far for them to be able to visit as often as they would wish.  The doctors in charge of their care feel it is important for them to have some semblance of normality in their lives.  I try to provide that.  If they wish to talk of their experiences during the war, we do; if they do not, we do not._

_As for the Red Cross, my friends and I do whatever they need us to do.  Tuesday, a large supply of comfort items arrived from another chapter.  We had to pick them up at the station and take them to our chapter.  We already had received several deliveries from other chapters, and they were picked up by the army the next day._

_There is one other thing about which I am curious.  You mentioned that you saw a reference to my father’s case while you were researching the assassination of Czar Nicholas.  I cannot imagine why those two things would ever be referenced together.  They are so wholly unrelated._

_Please write back and tell me about your world.  What do you do other than go to talking movies and boring exhibits?  I looked in our Atlas and found Phoenix.  The current population is 29,000, but it says the population is growing rapidly.  What is it in your time?  I have to admit, I thought the capitol of Arizona was Tucson.  I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX 

            Edward and his parents arrived at the Carrington’s home promptly at six for dinner Saturday evening and after being shown in by the maid, were greeted by Mrs. Carrington.  “Welcome, welcome, do come in.  We are so pleased you could join us.” 

            His mother thanked her for the invitation, and they were led into the parlor where Mr. Carrington and Violet were waiting.  The two families chatted together for a while before drifting into three groups of two.  The two men discussed various cases coming up for trial, and Mrs. Masen and Mrs. Carrington were seated next to each other by a large bay window overlooking the side yard featuring well maintained flower beds containing a riot of colors and discussed the dance being planned for the fall for the Red Cross.  Edward and Violet discussed the baseball game that morning, and though Edward noticed that she frequently mentioned the hit Joe got, or the ball Joe caught, or the run Joe scored, he did not show it. 

            His mother had not wanted him to go this morning.  She felt he had been too ill and should not exert himself so soon.  He had fallen ill overnight on Tuesday and did not get out of bed again until late Friday morning.  His fever had broken and the pain in his head and joints had gone, but he'd still had no appetite and had still been so desperately tired that he had spent most of the day in his room.  That morning, however, he'd been so full of energy he'd had trouble sitting still, and he'd badly wanted to get outside.  He'd had to promise over and over to not over exert himself and to come home and rest before dinner. 

            He'd also needed the distraction.  If he'd stayed home, he'd have been able to think of nothing but Bella.  The first thing he had done after waking, once his mother had left him, was to write to her.  His head had been so full of questions for her and still was...  Whenever she was, she had read the Oz books too.  They'd never been favorites of his, but he loved having something in common with her.  He hoped she had read H. G. Wells as well.  Had she read _Dracula?_ Or _Frankenstein_?  He didn’t think she was likely to scare easily. 

            _She described herself as shy, but I cannot see her that way._

Did she prefer mysteries?  Perhaps Sherlock Holmes?  Or was Mark Twain more her style?  He himself had always preferred the fantasy and adventure of Jules Verne or Jonathan Swift’s _Gulliver’s Travels_ over Twain, but whatever books she preferred, if they existed in his time, he would find them and read them so they could discuss them together 

            Edward tried not to think about some of the other things she had told him that would happen soon, but it was no use.  She'd been right; it was difficult to know people were going to die and there was nothing he could do.  Everyone enjoyed going to fortunetellers at carnivals and amusement parks, but Edward didn’t think he would ever be able go to one again.  It was all good fun to be told you will marry happily, have a dozen healthy children, and live to a ripe old age, but genuinely knowing what was coming, the bad as well as the good, and knowing there was no way to stop it, was a burden he would not wish on anyone. 

            After dinner, they had coffee while Violet played for them on the piano.  She played very well, but Edward was getting anxious to get home and see if there was a letter yet.  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he was pulled from his thoughts as his parents and the Carrington’s applauded Violet as she finished playing.  He quickly joined in and was grateful when his parents soon stood and thanked the Carrington’s for a lovely evening.

            Immediately upon arriving home, Edward wished his parents good night and went straight to his room to look in his desk.  He was not disappointed. 

_Dear Edward,_

_I 'm sorry you were sick, I’m glad you’re feeling better._

_I’ve never actually read “The Wizard of Oz”.  I’ve only seen the movie.  I didn’t even know it was a series of books.  I thought it was just one book.  “The Wizard of Oz” is probably one of the most famous movies ever made.  I don’t think there’s anyone who hasn’t seen it.  I’ve never read “The Time Machine” either, but I will.  That’s been made into a movie, too.  A lot of books have been.  What are some of your favorite books?  I’d like to read them so we can talk about them.  I love to read, but not too many people do anymore, especially people our age.  Jane Austen is one of my favorites, also “Wuthering Heights”.  I love Agatha Christie, but you’ve got a couple more years to wait for her.  She’s a mystery writer.  Her first book is already written, “The Mysterious Affair at Styles”, but it won’t be published until 1920.  I was thrilled the first time I figured out who the murderer was, but I had the motive totally wrong._

_You may want to sit down for this next part.  I laughed when I read what you wrote about an exhibit with only lifeboats and life jackets.  You must’ve thought I was insane.  The Titanic is the most famous ship in history_ _.  Are you sitting down?  It was found in 1985, and the traveling exhibit I mentioned has items recovered from the ocean floor.  They have a huge steel door the first class passengers entered through, the remains of a crystal chandelier from the first class restaurant, personal things like hairbrushes and hair tonic bottles, toothpaste containers, and jewelry.  There’s a rose gold bracelet with the name 'Amy' spelled out in diamonds.  They have dishes and crystal that are incredibly unbroken.  When you enter the exhibit, you’re handed a boarding pass with an actual passenger’s name on it and what class they were in.  There’s a wall with the names of all the passengers and who lived or died to check you passenger’s name against.  My passenger died and the body was never found, or if it was, it was never identified.  Please don’t think we’re barbaric.  A lot of people disagree with salvaging items from Titanic.  They think of it as grave robbing, but I think they’re wrong.  It was very moving.  Seeing that bracelet with the name 'Amy' on it, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.  It made it feel real.  A real person wore that bracelet, and she did not want to die that night.  She had a life, and a family, and plans...  Her life should not have been cut short.  It was such an enormous tragedy that it's easy to get caught up in numbers.  It's hard to remember, but it wasn't one single tragedy, it was fifteen hundred individual tragedies.  The victims became real people again, not just more anonymous casualties, through something as commonplace as a toothbrush._

_Your father’s case and the assassination of the Czar weren’t referenced together.  We have machines called computers that we use to look up information on everything.  Try to imaging an encyclopedia, a dictionary, all your school books, actually, practically every book ever written, really, all made into a machine.  Imagine a machine in a box that contains information on everything and anything imaginable.  That is what I used to look up the information on the Czar.  Information is cross-referenced with links.  A link can take you from one subject to another.  The date was a link from the information on the Czar to a list of events from 1918.  That list is where I found the information on your father’s case and the sinking of the Carpathia._

_Tucson?  Honestly, Edward.  Tucson?  Really?  The population of Phoenix today is about 1,600,000.  We’re the sixth biggest city in the country.  Which, incidentally, has fifty states now.  Chicago has about 2,800,000 people.  It’s the third biggest city in the country._

_What is it with baseball?  My father loves baseball, too.  My mother is remarrying this November, and her_ _fiancé_ _is a baseball player.  They have both tried to explain it to me, but I just don’t see what people like about it so much.  It seems like a lot of standing around waiting for something to happen.  Did your team win?  You’ll be glad to know, the Chicago White Sox are still around.  So are the Cubs._

_My parents divorced when I was a baby.  My father lives in a small town in Washington called Forks.  He is Chief of Police, and my mother is a teacher.  I don’t play any sports.  Actually, I’m so clumsy I’m a danger to those around me just walking.  Mostly, I read, and I baby sit.  I hope I haven’t just made you not want to write to me anymore.  I’m afraid I’m probably not someone your parents would want you to be friends with.  I know divorce used to be seen as something to be ashamed of._

_Lastly, you asked me when I am.  You may want to sit down again.  Today’s date is February 25, 2009._

_I hope you will still write to me._

_Your friend,_

_Bella_

_Today’s date is February 25, 2009.  Today’s date is February 25, 2009.  Today’s date is February 25, 2009.  Today’s date is February 25, 2009._

Edward had not been able to get that one sentence out of his head since he read it four days ago.  He was sitting in the doctor’s lounge at the hospital after spending the morning with the men.  He had written a few lines of notes, but there was really very little for him to report on today.  Someone had recently very generously donated a very nice phonograph and several records for the men to listen to, and they had spent most of the morning dancing with the nurses and enjoyed it very much.  Edward was grateful they had something they enjoyed, especially since it left him free to let his mind wander. 

            _Today’s date is February 25, 2009._ He could scarcely believe it.  _It clearly wasn’t Mic who gave her the desk._

            It surprised Edward how incredibly disappointed he was.  He hadn’t realized it until he knew it could never happen, but he had hoped they could one day meet.She’d already told him her world was very different from his.  He should have understood then that she was more than just a few years, or even a decade or two, away from him.  But technology was advancing so quickly, and he supposed he’d thought she was exaggerating.  She hadn’t been. 

_I will be dead decades before she is even born._   _Is that why she never dated her letters?  She is 91 years away from me.  What good is a miracle if it only shows me what I can never have?_

Disappointed and depressed, Edward had been sitting and looking out the window for the past half hour without writing a single word.  The overcast, gray sky matched his mood perfectly.

            No one could ever remember a summer with worse weather, and the whole city was complaining about it.  It was unbearably hot and cloudy, if not raining, almost every day. 

            Edward was startled when Dr. Cullen came in and sat next to him.  He hadn’t known he was working again today and hadn’t heard him come in until he pulled out a chair to sit down. 

            “Is anything wrong, Edward?  You’ve been in here quite some time.” 

            Still a little embarrassed after the ridiculous questions he had asked the man last week, Edward tried to not put his foot in it again.  “No, sir.  Everything is fine.  I… was just… lost in thought, I suppose.” 

            Dr. Cullen did not look convinced.  “Are you sure?  I do not mean to pry, my boy, but you look like a man who just lost his best friend.” 

            Edward couldn’t help laughing piteously.  Had he?  It had been such a short time since he got Bella’s first letter, but she had become very important to him in that short period of time.  His best friends had always been Joe and Will, ever since they were children.  Were they still?  He remembered the way it had felt to see her sign a letter _Your Friend_ for the first time, and it reminded him of the look on Joe’s face the first time he saw Violet at the Red Cross.  Is that why it saddened him so much to know they could never meet?  Had he, without realizing it, come to care for her that much so quickly?  To hope they would one day be more than friends?  The realization that he had took his breath away. 

_Today’s date is February 25, 2009._

            “Edward?” 

            At the sound of his name, Edward turned and looked at the doctor and debated with himself for barely a second before coming to a decision.  “Do you believe in miracles Dr. Cullen?  In soul mates?”       He no longer felt any of the self-consciousness he had earlier.  His mother had always been a shrewd judge of character, always able to see what a person was behind the masks they wore, and she told him he had inherited that from her.  There was something about Dr. Cullen that told him he could trust him, that somehow, the oddest questions wouldn’t seem odd to him, that nothing would surprise or shock him. 

            “Yes, I do.  In both.” 

            Edward voiced the question he had thought to himself earlier, “What good is a miracle, if it only shows me what I can never have?” 

            “What makes you so sure you can never have it?” 

            Dropping his head into hands and running his hands through his hair, Edward laughed sadly.  “Believe me, sir.  If I live to be one hundred, I could never have it.” 

            _One hundred years...  2001.  She’d be about eight-years-old._   ' _Today’s date is February 25, 2009.'  She’s not even in my century._

            Dr. Cullen laughed the same sad laugh Edward had a moment before.  “I am afraid, Edward, that I have asked myself that same question many times but have never gotten an answer.  If you ever find out, please do let me know.” 

            Looking up, Edward stared out the window again for a moment before changing the subject.  “The men enjoyed the music this morning.  It was a very generous gift.  Do you know who donated it?”      “No, I do not.  It was given anonymously.  I have spoken to some of the nurses, and they also said how much the men enjoyed it.  It is good to see them recovering.”  Dr. Cullen was silent for a moment before adding in a quiet voice, “They’ve suffered so much, lost so much.  If I’ve helped ease their pain, helped them regain their lives, I hope it may be enough.” 

            It was said so quietly Edward was not sure if it was said to him, or if the other man was speaking to himself.  Possibly, he wasn't even aware he'd spoke the words aloud.  The words almost sounded like a prayer for forgiveness, as if he blamed himself for someone’s pain and suffering or for their death, and he was trying to atone for it by helping others. 

            Edward found himself wondering again about the doctor’s past.  If Dr. Cullen had been married and lost his wife, did he blame himself for not saving her?  The doctor was looking out the window now staring morosely at the cloudy sky, and Edward remembered what his mother had said about the hardest job any doctor had was to leave their patients in the hospital when they returned home and accepting that you cannot save everyone.  But what if the patient you had to leave in the hospital was someone who belonged in your home?  What if the patient you weren’t able to save was someone you loved? 

            Dr. Cullen quickly pulled himself together and excused himself, but before he left he looked at him and said, “Edward, whatever your miracle is, hold onto it tightly.  Do not question it.  It may not be what you expected, or what you wanted, but it will be what you need.”  He smiled at him, looking content again, and continued.  “The Lord works in mysterious ways.  Let us not forget that.  We may not know what He is doing, but we must trust that He does.” 

            Edward felt as if he had been trapped inside a fog for the past few days since Bella’s last letter, but the fog had finally cleared after his conversation with Dr. Cullen.  He had become so focused on what he could never have, he had lost sight of what he did have. 

            He had sent a short letter to her immediately after reading her letter to assure her she had not scared him off, but since then he had been unable to get passed “My Dear Bella”.  The fog now gone, Edward's mind was clear, and he could think of nothing but writing to Bella.  She had told him so much... but he wanted to know more, and he wanted her to know him.  She had asked if his team had won the baseball game Saturday morning, and he wanted to tell her about the double play he’d been part of. 

            _A lot of standing around waiting for something to happen....  Oh, Bella, I have my work cut out for me, haven't I?_

            There was so much he wanted to tell her, to ask her, that the hardest part was deciding what to write first.

            _How could I have not known what to write?_

Once he arrived home he ran straight to his room and grabbed his pen and ink.

_My Dear Bella,_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and to my two Project Team Beta betas for this chapter, Pain Jane and Madmum for their work. 
> 
> Historical note -  
> The Carpathia was the ship that picked up the Titanic survivors; it really was sunk the same day the Czar was assassinated.  
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who had read and reviewed so far! I'm so thrilled with how well received this story has been! And a special thanks to my PTB beta, Thir13enth! 
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Look at me, Miss Belly! I’m an airplane!” 

Bella laughed as Kenny ran around the playground with his arms spread out wide. “Yes, you are, Kenny. What kind of airplane are you?” 

“I’m a great big airplane!” 

“Where are you going this time? Disneyland?” 

“Nope!” 

Having to guess where he was flying was part of Kenny's new game. One of his birthday presents was a geography game for the computer, which he loved to play. It was an interactive puzzle of a map of the United States, and he had to click on the state-shaped puzzle pieces and drag them to the right spot. Every time he put a piece in the right spot, the piece would turn in to a little person, who would jump up and down and cheer for him. The little person would then show him fun things about the state, such as the biggest amusement park or the best beaches, before lying down and turning back into the puzzle piece. He played it all the time, laughing giddily when he put a state in the right spot, and she tried to remember the places he told her about. “Hmmmm, Mt. Rushmore?” 

“Nope!” 

“Hmmmmm, The Grand Canyon? That's right here in Arizona. Remember the donkeys carrying people down that path into the canyon?” 

“Nope! I'm going far, far away!” 

“Hmmmm, far away, huh? How about New York City? Remember the girls all in a long line dancing and kicking their legs way up high? Remember the Statue of Liberty?” 

“Nope!” 

“OK, how about…….New Orleans?” 

He stopped and looked at her for a minute, puzzled. “Which one is that?” 

“New Orleans is in Louisiana, that's the one that looks like a boot. Remember Mardi Gras and the parade with all the costumes? Remember the dessert with the bananas and ice cream they lit on fire?” He started running again, laughing that she was still wrong. 

“Hmmmm, how about… California? Remember the beaches and the big Hollywood sign where they make the movies? Remember, in San Francisco, the curvy street and the prison on the island?” 

“Nope, nope, nope. But you're really warm.” 

“I’m warm? OK. You’re sure you're not going to California? You’re not going to Disneyland?” 

“Nope, nope, nope, nope. No Mickey! No Mickey! Up! Up! Up! Up!” 

“Hmmmm… Up, you say? So, north then. What’s north of California? Hmmmm. Oh. Oh, Kenny. Are you going to Washington?” 

“Yes!!! Yes! Yes! Yes! I’m taking you to Washington so I won’t miss you when you go see your daddy!” 

Bella never really thought about having children someday, but if she ever did, she hoped they’d be like Kenny. 

“Raspberries!” 

Bella looked up just in time to see a four–no, pardon her–a five-year-old great big airplane heading straight at her. Laughing, she scooped him up under his arms and spun him around before pushing his shirt up and blowing raspberries on his stomach. 

“I think it’s about time for this little airplane to have his dinner.” 

“Awww! I’m not hungry. I wanna play on the swings!” 

Taking advantage of the fact that he was already in her arms, Bella propped him on her hip and started to walk back home. “You already played on the swings. It’s almost dinner time. We can eat on the patio and watch the sunset.” 

Kenny folded his little arms and pouted. “I’m not hungry.” 

“Not hungry, huh? Well, that’s too bad. Your mom said there was chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream for after dinner. I know that’s your favorite, but if you’re not hungry, I’m sure you won’t want any. I’ll have to eat it _All.... By.... Myself._ ” 

Visible in his dark brown eyes, a battle was going on in the little boy's head: Stay At The Park vs. Go Home And Eat Ice Cream. With all the seriousness of a general planning his next move, Kenny asked, “Are there sprinkles?” 

“Rainbow.” 

“I might be a little hungry.” 

Two hours later, Kenny was rubbing his eyes and holding Franklin as she read to him. He was fresh out of the bath, all soft and warm and smelling like soap, and wearing the Arizona Diamondback jammies he had gotten from Phil and her mother for his birthday with his favorite Franklin bedroom slippers.

_Really, even Kenny... What is it about baseball?_ “Are you tired, sweetest? How 'bout we go on up to bed?” 

He yawned and shook his head. “I wanna wait for Mommy and Daddy.” 

“Mommy and Daddy will be home real soon, honey. We’ll just go up and you can lie down and wait up there.” Bella didn’t wait for him to answer, picking him up as he yawned again, and he was asleep almost as soon as she tucked him in. 

Sonia had said they wouldn’t be out too late. Carlos had finished his paper, and to celebrate, they'd gone out for a child-free dinner and a movie without a single animated character. Back downstairs, Bella turned the T.V. on with the voice down low so she’d hear Kenny if he woke up. The T.V. merely served as camouflage for when Sonia and Carlos came home; she wasn't watching it. She had gotten another letter from Edward this afternoon, and she'd brought it with her. Smiling as she thought about him, she pulled his latest letter out of her purse to read again and again.

 

_July 3, 1918  
My Dear Bella,_

_I feel as if I have been lost in a fog these past four days, and that I have only just found my way out. I have had trouble accepting how truly far from me you are. I had thought it was only a few years, but I should have known that was not the case when you said how very different your world was from mine. How can I feel such a strong connection to you when we are separated by nearly a century?_

_I cannot even imagine the world you must live in... a world capable of finding ship wrecks on the ocean floor. Now, you may wish to sit down yourself, my dear Bella. My family and I had passage booked on the Titanic. My mother was not at all pleased. My mother is a very formidable woman, and I remember her employing every weapon in her arsenal to persuade my father to change our plans and sale on the Mauritania instead. She felt very strongly that claiming the ship to be practically unsinkable was to fly in the face of God. My mother is the oldest of five children. She was very close to her sister, Mary, who was less than two years younger than she. My Aunt Mary died when I was 2 years old. She, her husband, and their three children died in a fire at the Iroquois Theatre, which had been open for only five weeks and had been advertised as “absolutely fireproof”. Of the approximately 2000 people there that day, 602 died. My cousins were only 9, 7, and 6 years old. My mother mourns them still. The sudden, horrific nature of their deaths haunts her still, even after all these years. My father and I fear she will never put their loss fully behind her. The building reopened as the Colonial Theatre not very long afterward, disrespectfully quickly in our opinion. To this day, she cannot bear to even walk passed it, and I have promised her to never set foot inside._

_How can you not like baseball? I cannot see how anyone could not like baseball. I consider it my responsibility to teach you an appreciation of the game. It is the American pastime, after all. (If it no longer is, please do not tell me, I don't want to know.) It is not “a lot of standing around waiting for something to happen”. It is suspense. It is anticipation. There is nothing greater than your pitcher striking the batter out with the bases loaded to end the inning or your team coming back in the bottom of the 9th to win. My team did win, in fact. I play center field at my school because I am fast. Outfielders need to be fast to run down the ball. We did not have enough players for full teams, so we played with just the pitcher, three basemen, and two in the outfield with one of the players from the team at bat filling in as catcher. I played right field. A ball was hit right to the corner, just fair. They had a man on second, and he did not think I would be able to catch it, so he ran and tried to score. I did catch it. He was too far around third base, and I threw him out easily. When a fly ball is hit, you see, a base runner cannot leave their base until either the ball is caught or hits the ground. If he does, and the ball is caught, he has to get back to the base before the other team can throw the ball there. If he beats the ball, he is safe. If the ball beats him, he is out. That is called a double play, because the team in the field gets two outs, the batter and the runner. That will be today’s lesson. Take notes. There will be a test._

_They have made the_ Wonderful Wizard of Oz _and_ The Time Machine _into your talking movies? The Oz books were never favorites of mine as a child. I have always preferred H. G. Wells or Jules Verne. I will read your Agatha Christie as soon as she is published. Do you like Sherlock Holmes? Have you ever read_ Dracula _or_ Frankenstein _? I enjoyed_ The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, _but I did not care for_ The Prince and The Pauper _and have never been able to get more than sixty or seventy pages in to_ A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. _Are they still known in your time? I did not like Wuthering Heights at all. You will have to explain to me what it is about that you like. Which of Jane Austen’s novels is your favorite?_ Pride and Prejudice _is generally regarded as her most well-known, I believe, at least in this time, but I have always preferred_ Persuasion. _I have always thought Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth to be a better love story than Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. Anne is very young and allows herself to be persuaded to give up the man she loves, but as she grows she gains strength and refuses to accept the hand of a man she does not love. She is overlooked entirely by her father and sisters, but her worth is recognized by others, and she is preferred over her father and sisters by nearly everyone. Captain Wentworth's wanting to write to her and ask for her hand again once he is better situated, but being too proud to do so, intending to forget her, believing himself to have done so, but remaining unconsciously, unintentionally faithful to her, never loving another, never even considering another to be her equal... I remember studying Shakespeare’s Sonnets in school. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: Oh, no. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.” Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth always remind me of that. Their love is so true, so strong, it does not alter or bend, it may have been shaken, but it survived the tempest._

_Yes, Tucson. I apologize. Quickly, Bella, what is the capital of Illinois? No looking in your computer gadget thingamabob._

_May I ask, what does it mean “to babysit”?_

_I know I have already told you this, but I want to repeat it. I do not care that your parents are divorced. I am sorry for it, of course, but I understand that you live in a very different world from mine. As much as I believe a marriage vow is unbreakable, I am a realist. If two people do not make each other happy, and their society allows for them to divorce, and the woman is able to provide for herself, it does seem pointless for them to remain together. Therefore, I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_

Bella was still reading when she heard the Ruiz’s car pull up, and she quickly put the letter back in her purse. A terrible feeling had begun to creep up on her while reading Edward's letter and thinking about Kenny asleep upstairs.

“We’re back, Bella. How was he?” 

“He’s always good for me. He ate his dinner and was good for his bath. He wanted to wait up for you, but I took him up about an hour ago and he was asleep instantly.” 

They talked for a few more minutes before Carlos paid her, and she left. When she got home, her mom and Phil were watching a movie on TV. She sat with them for a few minutes, but she wasn‘t paying attention to the movie; all she could think about was Edward. 

_...How can I feel such a strong connection to you when we are separated by nearly a century...? ___

_He feels a strong connection to me._ Bella couldn’t think of anything that had ever made her happier than that one sentence, but the nagging thought that had entered her head while she waited for Sonia and Carlos to come home wouldn't leave her alone. _My life is in front of me. But Edward's is over. From his perspective, his life is in front of him, too... but in reality, in my reality anyway, it’s over. He's already lived it. He's already formed his connections, to people from his own time, his own world. Am I interfering?_

__“Did you talk to your dad about your tickets for Easter, Bella?”_ _

_What if he doesn’t meet the girl he is supposed to marry because of me?_

“Bella?” 

_What if instead of going somewhere someday, he stays home to write to me, and that was the day he would’ve met her? I could, so easily, change the course of his life. Things he was meant to experience... Places he was meant to go... People he was meant to meet... What if... What if I've already prevented him from doing something he was meant to do? Something he did do before I wrote to him? Oh, God... What have I done?_

__“Bella?”_ _

_Why does the thought of him marrying someone scare me as much as the thought of accidentally preventing it?_

__“Bella!”_ _

__Bella jumped and looked up when she heard her mom yell her name. Both her mom and Phil were staring at her and grinning._ _

__“What?”_ _

__Her mom laughed and told her she had called her name three times. “What were you thinking about?”_ _

__“No one. Nothing! I mean, nothing. Nothing.”_ _

Her mom and Phil glanced at each other and smirked before looking back at her. “No one, _who_?” 

_Oh, crap. Let it go, let it go, let it go, please, please, please, let it go._

__She shrugged and tried to look as casual and natural as possible. What could she say? _Oh, nothing important. I was just wondering if I was ruining someone’s life. So, what’s the movie about?_ “I was just daydreaming I guess. I think I’ll go take a shower and go to bed.” _ _

__But daydreaming was clearly the wrong excuse because her mother was now leaning forward, eyes wide, and looking at her like a tigress waiting to pounce. “Daydreaming? About who?”_ _

__Bella tried to laugh it off, but she really was a terrible actress, and she was starting to feel slightly nauseous._ _

__“Come on, Bella! Who is he? What’s his name? Is he cute? What’s he like? Is he smart? Funny? I bet he’s smart.”_ _

___Edward. His name is Edward, and I have no idea what he looks like, but I think he’s wonderful.__ _

__Looking down at the ground, Bella swallowed thickly. She really, really wanted to be alone. Phil must’ve seen something in her face because, like a knight in shining armor, he came to her rescue. Giving her mother a hug he smiled consolingly at her. “Leave the poor girl alone, Renee. You’re embarrassing her.”_ _

__Renee pushed him aside, undaunted. “Don’t be silly. Girls like to talk about boys.”_ _

__The movie was just ending, and Phil turned it off, stood up, and pulled Renee to her feet, putting his arms around her. “With their girlfriends, love. Not with their mothers.” He led Renee, who was still protesting, from the room and winked at Bella over his shoulder._ _

__God, she could really get used to having him around._ _

Heartsick, Bella got ready for her shower quickly and adjusted the water. When it was at the right temperature, she got in and stood there letting the hot water beat down on her back. _Edward._ She could not believe how much just thinking his name affected her. _Edward._ But while sitting with her mother and Phil, and thinking about Sonia and Carlos, seeing the two couples together and knowing that the slightest outside interference might have prevented them from ever meeting, she had come to a decision, and no matter how much it hurt, she knew it was the right one. For Edward. _It’s only been a week. Oh God, how can this hurt so much? Edward... I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t do this. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you. You should have... you deserve to have the life you were meant to have. The life you’ve already had. I can’t risk interfering and taking that from you. I won’t. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry._

___._  
..ooOoo..  
. 

__Edward and his parents arrived at the 4th of July Picnic at Lincoln Park just as the games were being organized on the lawn by the Conservatory, and Edward went off in search of his friends. As his parents were walking toward the refreshment tables to purchase their tickets for dinner, his mother spotted Dr. Cullen nearby and led her husband over to him. “Dr. Cullen, I am so happy to see you here. I began to fear you never left the hospital. Please, allow me to introduce my husband, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, Mr. Edward Masen.”_ _

__The two men shook hands. “Very pleased to meet you, Dr. Cullen. My wife and son cannot say enough good about you.”_ _

__“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Masen. Mrs. Masen and Edward are a great help at the hospital. You must be very proud of them both.”_ _

__“I am, sir, I am indeed. It is most kind of you to lend Edward your books and journals. He sits and reads them for hours at a time.”_ _

__“I am very pleased to hear it. I believe Edward has great potential as a doctor.”_ _

__Mrs. Masen invited the doctor to join them, and together they made their way to the refreshment tables for some lemonade. Tables and chairs were set up here and there, and they sat down together talking for a while before Edward ran up to them with Lillian Stevenson following behind him. “Hello, Dr. Cullen, it is good to see you here, sir. Not working tonight?”_ _

__“No, no. Fortunately for me, Thursday is one of my nights off.”_ _

__Edward introduced Dr. Cullen to Lillian and continued to his parents, “The games will be beginning soon. They were forming mixed teams of six, so we make up a team perfectly. Mr. Stevenson and the Carringtons are over there.”_ _

__“We will be over shortly, Edward.”_ _

__He and Lillian headed back over to the Conservatory, and his parents and Dr. Cullen soon followed. A large group of people was forming around a clearing where the games would be played, and several groups of three were beginning to be lined up across the clearing, about forty or fifty yards away from each other. Their small group spotted Edward and his friends just as a large man wearing a red, white, and blue sash across his shoulder stepped up to a podium across the clearing from them._ _

__“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Good afternoon, and welcome to the annual Lincoln Park 4th of July Picnic! Before we begin, I would like to take a moment to remind everyone to support our brave young men fighting overseas and visit the booths set up near the refreshment tables, where the Lions Club will be selling Liberty Bonds until the concert begins._ _

__“Now, I believe our teams are about ready. Our first game this afternoon will be a relay race. Racers will have to carry an orange under their chin, just so.” He demonstrated by placing an orange under his multiple chins and waving his hands at his sides dramatically, like a magician after sawing a woman in half. “They will run across to their teammates and pass the orange off, without using their hands, to their teammate. Any team caught using their hands or dropping their orange... Will Be Disqualified.” As the man spoke, he placed his hands on the podium and leaned toward the crowd, looking from person to person and adopting a very severe, stern pose which was betrayed by the jovial tone of his voice. “The first team to finish will win red, white, and blue ribbons. Now, racers, are we ready?”_ _

__Violet, Irene, and Lillian were lined up across the clearing from Joe, Will, and Edward, and they would race in that order, with Violet going first and passing the orange off to Joe._ _

__The man at the podium raised a small starter’s pistol. “Racers, on your marks! Get set! Go!” He fired the pistol, and the racers took off._ _

__For not appearing to be at all physical, Violet ran surprisingly well, spurred on as she was by their team cheering her on, madly yelling and screaming to her. There were about fifteen teams of racers, and three were knocked out in the first exchange. Violet and Joe managed to exchange the orange without dropping it, and Joe took off running back toward Lillian and Irene, who were jumping up and down, laughing joyfully, and urging him on faster. There looked to be about four teams ahead of them, but one of them dropped their orange. Joe and Lillian exchanged the orange quickly, and Lillian ran back to Will. They had a little trouble with the exchange but managed it, and Will ran back to Irene. There were still three teams ahead of them when they made the exchange. Will passed the orange off to Irene, and she ran back to Edward. They made the exchange and Edward started to run. One of the other teams ahead of them was caught using their hands during the exchange and was “Disqualified!” leaving two other racers still ahead of Edward, but he really was very fast and easily passed the other two off in a sprint to the finish line. The man on the podium announced them the winners and their team went up to the podium to get their ribbons as their parents and Dr. Cullen cheered proudly._ _

__After the relay race, they also had a sack race, blind man’s bluff, and horseshoes._ _

__After the blind man’s bluff, the girls rejoined their parents, and Edward persuaded Dr. Cullen to join him and his friends to make four for a game of horseshoes. Edward and Dr. Cullen teamed up against Joe and Will, beating them soundly, 40-28._ _

__After horseshoes, they rejoined the others and found a nice spot near were a group of young children were playing drop the handkerchief and not too far from where a concert would be given just before dusk, followed by fireworks once it was good and dark. All the families had brought blankets, and they spread them out and sat down. Elizabeth was glad that Dr. Cullen had accepted her invitation to be part of their little group and tried to make sure he felt welcome. “You throw very well, Dr. Cullen.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen moved his arm around in circles massaging his shoulder and grimaced a little, but smiled as he said, “Thank you, I haven’t played in years. I am afraid I will be paying for it tomorrow. I sometimes forget I am not as young as I once was.”_ _

__The group fell into silence for a few moments before Dr. Cullen spoke again, “I believe the concert this evening is going to be quite good. I am very much looking forward to it.”_ _

__Edward was surprised at how quiet his normally amicable and talkative friends and their parents were this evening and was quickly growing both frustrated and embarrassed at their behavior. Other than his mother and himself, and even only occasionally his father, no one was making any effort to speak to Dr. Cullen, or, in fact, to speak at all. He quickly responded, trying to keep the stilted conversation going. “Are you fond of music, Dr. Cullen?”_ _

__“Oh, yes, indeed. I enjoy music a great deal. I attend the Chicago Symphony Orchestra as often as my schedule permits.”_ _

__“Do you play?”_ _

__“No, I am afraid I never learned, but I recently purchased a new phonograph and have quite an extensive collection of records.”_ _

__Elizabeth was dismayed at her husband's unusually subdued demeanor and was very proud of her son’s efforts in welcoming the young doctor to their small group and smiled warmly at him before turning to the doctor. “You must come and dine with us one evening, Dr. Cullen. Edward can play for you. He is quite talented and plays the piano beautifully, if I do say so myself.”_ _

__Edward laughed softly and shook his head at his mother's praise. “My mother exaggerates, Dr. Cullen. She is a very biased judge.”_ _

__Their three-way conversation continued through the picnic dinner of fried chicken, baked beans, and potato salad, and Edward was greatly relieved when the concert began and there was no longer a need to talk._ _

_Honestly, what is wrong with everyone tonight? Can they not see how rude they are being? Violet I am not surprised at, having only just met Dr. Cullen her shyness is natural and to be expected, but everyone else? Even Father?_

__The concert was indeed as good as had been expected, and the fireworks following it drew a multitude of appreciative _oh’s_ and _ah’s_ from everyone. At the end of the evening, Edward was once again embarrassed by his friends and their parents at how quickly said their good nights and hurried off, and he wondered what on Earth had gotten into everyone as he and his parents walked to their car after parting from Dr. Cullen. _ _

__The morning after the picnic, Edward had dreaded seeing the doctor at the hospital and had hoped he had not taken on another extra shift, but if Dr. Cullen had noticed his father’s and friends’ inexplicable behavior, which Edward knew he must have, he certainly did not show it. In fact, to Edward's great surprise, he’d spoken of the picnic as if it was one of the best days he had spent in a very long time, and the very first thing he’d said upon seeing Edward in the morning was how very much he had enjoyed himself. Later that day, as Edward wrote up his notes from his morning with the men, they’d moved on from discussing the concert to discussing the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and the return of Frederick Stock as conductor and whether the replacing of music by German composers such as Wagner with that of others served a purpose in not provoking more anger toward German Americans or only served to add fuel to a fire that was already burning wildly out of control._ _

__On the mornings Dr. Cullen was still at the hospital when Edward arrived during the coming week, they'd continued their discussion moving onto other topics. Today was Friday morning, and Dr. Cullen was still at the hospital after changing nights off with one of the other doctors. They were discussing women’s suffrage, which both men supported._ _

__“I am very pleased to hear you so well versed on the topic, Edward. It is good to see so young a person interested in the world around him.”_ _

__In the short time he had known him, Edward had come to look upon the young doctor as a mentor, almost as a friend, and he was very pleased at his approval. “You have meet my mother, Dr. Cullen. Would you dare tell her there is something that she, as a woman, cannot do?”_ _

__The doctor agreed, laughing, “I think wrestling an angry bobcat would be easier.”_ _

__“What do you think, Dr. Cullen? Do you think the Senate will follow the House and pass the bill?”_ _

__Dr. Cullen looked thoughtful for a few moments before answering, “I think it is inevitable. A few years ago, it was voted on in the House and lost; now, in January it passed, but by only one vote. I think it is inevitable; however, I do not think it will pass until after the war is won.”_ _

__At the mention of the war being won, Edward's thoughts returned once more to Bella. She was never fully out of his mind for very long. If anyone had told him before her first letter that he could ever come to care so deeply for someone so quickly through a few letters only, without even the chance of ever meeting, he would have laughed at them. But he had. Of course, if before her first letter any one had told him he would be exchanging letters with a girl who would not even be born for another seventy-five years, he would have had them committed. But he was._ _

__Over a week had now passed since he had heard from her, and he was growing despondent. Several times every day he looked and hoped for a letter, and every day he grew more and more disappointed. He did not know what to think._ _

_Is she ill? Has something happened?_

__He worried continually at two women living alone in such a large city; 1,600,000 people, she had said._ _

_Does she no longer want to write to me? Did I say something to offend her?_

__Once again, Edward thought over what he had written but couldn't think of anything offensive or objectionable. But then... what could it be?_ _

_If she no longer wishes to be my friend…_

__A sharp pain emanated from Edward's chest and spread through his body as his heart thumped forcefully at that thought. He'd asked himself several times this week what interest a girl who lived in a world capable of traveling to the ocean floor, a world with wonders he could scarcely even imagine but that were commonplace to her, could possibly have in developing a friendship with him, but every time her words echoed through his mind._ _

_“Your Friend, Bella”_

__If Bella now no longer wished to be his friend–he could barely stand the thought–Edward knew he would have to accept her decision. He would never try to force his company on a girl who did not want it. But he couldn’t help but feel, instinctively, that that was not the case. There was some other reason. Something was wrong._ _

__“Edward? Did you hear what I said?”_ _

__Looking up, deeply embarrassed that he had not been paying attention to Dr. Cullen, Edward quickly apologized. “Please forgive me, Dr. Cullen. I.. was… thinking about… a friend.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen studied him for a moment before responding, “By the look on your face, I would say worrying about a friend was closer to the truth. I do hope everything is alright. Is it one of your friends from the picnic?”_ _

__Edward ran his hands through his hair and sighed frustratedly. “No, it is not. I have… a friend… she lives out West with her mother, in Arizona. Her parents… are… divorced, and she lives with her mother. I have not heard from her in some time, and, I, I worry about her. I do not like the idea of two women living alone.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen leaned back in his chair with a very serious look on his face. “I see. I can understand your concern. This young lady… Correct me if I am wrong, but I suspect your parents are unaware of your… friendship?”_ _

__Edward dropped his face into his hands. “No, they do not know.”_ _

__“May I ask how you met the young lady?”_ _

__Edward laughed sadly into his hands._ _

_Actually, we haven’t meet. We can never meet. You see, she hasn’t been born yet, and I will be dead long before she is_. 

__Dr. Cullen may have taken his odd questions in stride but that… that… Edward could not even imagine the other man’s reaction to that. “We haven’t met. She’s, she’s someone I came to write to... through a mutual acquaintance.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen did not respond, and Edward hastened to better explain. “There is nothing… wrong, nothing… improper. We just… we just write to each other.” He continued sadly, “I know there is no chance for there ever to be anything more than friendship between us. We come from… very different worlds. I just... I just wish I could know that she is alright.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen said in a very soft, soothing, almost musical voice. “You mistake me, Edward. I have no doubt whatever that you would only ever behave in a proper manner. Your concern for your friend is very admirable. My only concern was for your well-being. I do not like to see you hurting.” He paused for a moment before smiling slightly and going on. “As for there being no chance, you are so very young, Edward. As you grow, you will come to learn how very similar seemingly very different worlds can be. I have learned that people are mostly the same, whatever the sphere into which they were born.”_ _

_It isn’t the “whatever sphere”, if it were merely that, I would get on the first train to Arizona and find her. It is the “whatever century”, and I have no time machine. Or, at least, not one I could fit either myself or her into._

__“How long has it been since you last heard from the young lady?”_ _

__Edward sighed. “Over a week.”_ _

__Dr. Cullen was so surprised he had to stifle a small laugh as he responded. He realized time seemed to pass very differently for others than it did for him, especially someone Edward’s age, but he had assumed it to be a much longer time to have his young friend so dejected. “A week? Edward, a week is nothing.”_ _

__Not so very long ago, Edward would have agreed, but now... now he knew just how long a week could be and how much could happen to a person in that length of time._ _

__Dr. Cullen glanced out the window and seemed startled for a moment. “I’m terribly sorry Edward, but I must leave. I’ve just remembered an appointment, and I must hurry or I will be late.” He took in the lost expression on Edward’s face and wished there was some way to raise his spirits. “Do not fear, Edward. I am sure you will hear from your friend soon. Perhaps the mail has simply been delayed for some reason.”_ _

__Edward agreed, knowing that was not the case._ _

__As he approached the nurse’s station, Edward saw his mother already there waiting for him. “Oh, Edward, good. I was just going to come find you. We must leave, dear. Are you finished? Your father’s secretary has just telephoned. Your father has taken ill suddenly, and Frank Carrington is driving him home.”_ _

__His surprise overriding everything else, Edward handed Nurse Denison his notes from the morning and, with his mother, turned down the hall toward the entrance to the hospital. “Mr. Carrington is driving him home? That hardly seems necessary. I cannot believe Father would agree to it.”_ _

__The sun breaking through the clouds as they stepped outside was a very welcome sight. They had been having the worst weather anyone could remember this summer; although oppressively hot, it seemed every day was gray and dismal._ _

__“I agree, it does seem unusual. I can only imagine the fuss your father must be making.”_ _

__They walked briskly in the direction of the nearest “L” station, and Edward laughed at the understatement. “I don’t think ‘fuss’ is quite the right word, Mother. More like a full scale battle royal.”_ _

__The moment they arrived home, they were greeted at the door by a very worried looking Maggie and joined as they entered hall by an equally worried Frank Carrington. Elizabeth began to thank him but stopped when she fully registered the expression on their faces. She looked nervously back and forth between the two and reached behind her for her son’s hand. “What is it? What has happened? What is wrong?”_ _

__Edward, too, had noticed their anxious looks and stepped forward taking his mother’s hand. “Mr. Carrington, what is the matter?”_ _

__Frank Carrington wiped his brow with his handkerchief and looked between mother and son. “I am no doctor, but I must warn you both before you see him, I believe he is very ill. I spoke to Edward in his office, just briefly, around mid-morning, about a case that would be discussed at a meeting later in the day, and we agreed to meet to discuss the case over lunch before the meeting. He was perfectly well at that time. Barely two hours had passed when I returned to his office at noon and found him coughing violently and burning with fever. He complained of a headache and sore throat, pain in his hands and feet, and a metallic taste in his mouth. I called his secretary into the office and told her to cancel the meeting and his appointments for the rest of the afternoon, that Mr. Masen was very ill, and I was taking him home. He is very dizzy, and I assisted him upstairs.”_ _

__Mr. Carrington paused for a moment to catch his breath and wiped his brow again. His hand was trembling. “Once upstairs, I noticed his cheeks... appeared slightly bruised. Your maid took his temperature once he was settled into bed. It was 103.2 degrees. Elizabeth, I have never seen a man become so ill so quickly. I strongly recommend you send for a doctor at once.”_ _

__Elizabeth and Edward were speechless for a moment before Elizabeth’s nurse’s instincts kicked in, and she took charge. Stepping forward, she took Frank Carrington’s hand warmly with both of hers. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you, Frank. I cannot thank you enough for your help. Edward, please see Mr. Carrington to the door. Maggie, Vick’s VapoRub, aspirin, and water please.”_ _

__Elizabeth started up the staircase with Maggie following behind. “Mr. Masen has already taken aspirin, ma’am.”_ _

__“Good, very good. Please bring bowls of cold water and vinegar and towels. We must lower his fever.”_ _

__“Yes, ma’am.”_ _

__Elizabeth’s steps faltered, and her growing anxiety heightened further as she first heard the horrible sounds of husband’s ferocious coughing as she approached their bedroom. In all her experience, she could not remember ever hearing a sound like it. This was no normal illness._ _

__Edward rushed up the stairs the moment Mr. Carrington left, and he approached his mother warily. “Mother?”_ _

__Elizabeth turned and faced her son, placing her hand on his shoulder to brace herself. “Edward, please telephone Dr. Clark.”_ _

__“Nellie is doing that right now.”_ _

__His mother didn’t answer, she merely nodded her head before straightening her back and turning toward the door._ _

__Nothing could have prepared them for the sight that awaited them. Edward, Sr. was trembling so severely he was nearly convulsing, the horrible coughing would not let up, and his ears were tinged blue. After a moment in which both were paralyzed with horror, they rushed to his side as Maggie and Nellie arrived with the VapoRub and bowls of cold water with vinegar and towels._ _

__Nellie was wringing her hands and looked terrified. “I am sorry, Mrs. Masen. Dr. Clark is not in the office at the moment, but he is expected back shortly. I told his receptionist it was urgent and asked that he telephone immediately upon his return.”_ _

__Elizabeth had begun rubbing the VapoRub onto her husband’s chest and let out a shaky breath, stopping her ministrations just long enough to give instructions to Nellie. In spite of all her nursing experience, her hands were shaking as badly as Frank Carrington's had. She forced herself to remain calm. “Thank you, Nellie. We need to get him to take liquids. Please make a strong broth and add plenty of crushed garlic. Also, boil a whole lemon with a cinnamon stick for fifteen minutes in a small pan with just enough water to cover the lemon. After it has boiled, juice the lemon, strain it, and add it to the hot water. Add one half cup of honey and a large shot of brandy. Edward, soak the towels in the water and help me to undress him. We must bring his fever down.”_ _

__For the next thirty minutes, Elizabeth and Edward worked and waited for the doctor to telephone until, finally, there was a soft knock on the door. “Mrs. Masen, ma'am, Dr. Clark is on his way.”_ _

__Elizabeth’s body sagged with relief. “Oh, thank Heaven.”_ _

__“I have Mr. Masen’s hot lemon and honey, ma’am, and the broth is simmering.”_ _

__The pungent scent of the garlic could be smelled in the bedroom already._ _

__“Very good, thank you, Nellie. Please bring it here. Edward, sit him up.”_ _

__Nellie carried in a tray with a tea pot and cup and set it on a small bedside table, casting a fearful look at the bed before hurrying back out of the room._ _

__Edward struggled to settle his father into a sitting position as his mother poured a cup of hot lemon and honey. Her hair was coming loose from its bun, and her hands were still shaking slightly. “Edward, we need to get him to take as much of this as possible. Liquids are vitally important.”_ _

__“Yes, Mother.”_ _

__Edward was sitting on the bed, with his father half propped up against pillows and half leaning against him. The coughing had settled for the moment, but Edward was frightened at how very high his father’s fever was. It was so high, it was uncomfortable to touch him, even though his clothing. “Edward, dearest, please, you need to drink this. Please. Drink this.”_ _

__“Please, Father.”_ _

Edward, Sr. lay propped up against the pillows and his son’s body and looked unseeingly around the room, seemingly unable to understand where he was. Elizabeth held the cup up to his lips and begged him to drink, “Edward, please, listen to me, dearest, you need to drink, please.” 

“Mother, try the spoon. Hand me the cup, and try to give it to him by the spoon.” 

__His mother handed him the cup and was able to spoon a small amount into his father's mouth. Working this way, they managed to get the whole cup into him, one spoonful at a time, just as they heard Maggie in the hall with the doctor, and they exchanged looks of pure relief as the doctor entered the room._ _

__Elizabeth stood and went to him. “Dr. Clark, thank you for coming.”_ _

__Dr. Clark nodded his head at them as he approached his patient. “Mrs. Masen, Edward.” After carefully sliding out from behind his father, Edward gently lay him back down and stood next to his mother beside the bed giving her hand a gentle squeeze._ _

__Dr. Clark gave his patient a quick examination before turning to Elizabeth and Edward and asking what had happened. Elizabeth’s nerves were catching up to her; they were beginning to fail her now that she was no longer actively nursing her husband, and she leaned heavily against her son, unable to answer. Edward put his arm around her and answered the doctor, “He was found ill in his office at noon by a friend, Frank Carrington, who brought him home. Mr. Carrington told us he had spoken to my father at about at mid-morning, and he was perfectly well at that time.” Edward stopped and looked at his father who had drifted into a very fitful sleep. His ears were still that horrible blue color, and his cheeks looked bruised. Taking a deep breath, Edward continued. “Mr. Carrington said he was coughing violently and complained of a headache and sore throat and a metallic taste in his mouth. He was very dizzy and needed help to his room upon their arrival home. His temperature was taken once they arrived, 103.2. We’ve been trying to lower it, rubbing his arms and legs with towels soaked in cold water and vinegar.”_ _

__Edward’s breath caught in his throat and it was a moment before he could speak again. “But, he feels… so hot, and his ears… his ears have been… blue… and his cheeks, bruised… since we’ve been here.”_ _

__Elizabeth found her voice as Edward began to lose his. “We’ve managed to get some liquids into him, Doctor. He has had aspirin, and I’ve rubbed his chest with VapoRub. His coughing… when Edward and I arrived, Dr. Clark, his coughing was so fierce…. It was horrible. It was like nothing I have ever heard before. He hasn’t spoken, and he… he doesn’t… he doesn’t seem to… know us.”_ _

__Dr. Clark bent back over his patient, taking his temperature, listening to his heart and chest, and checking his pulse._ _

__Edward stepped back further away from the bed pulling his mother with him, and it was silent in the room as the doctor worked._ _

__After a few minutes Dr. Clark stepped back checking the thermometer. “You say his fever was 103.2 shortly after twelve noon?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__Dr. Clark turned very grave eyes to Elizabeth and Edward. “Mrs. Masen, Edward, I do not like to sugar coat my patient's condition to their families. It does not help. I believe Mr. Masen contracted a very severe case of influenza, which I fear rapidly developed into pneumonia. I do not like how very quickly his symptoms set in, and they are worsening. Mr. Masen’s temperature is now 103.8, and his chest is very congested. I believe he should be taken to the hospital where he can be more closely monitored.”_ _

__Elizabeth’s eyes were fixed on her husband and filled with tears._ _

__Dr. Clark came to her and took her hand. “Now, now, Mrs. Masen. Please do not overly distress yourself, my dear. Your husband is not young, but he is strong. I have every confidence in his full recovery in a few days’ time.”_ _

__Edward thanked the doctor and took him downstairs to telephone the hospital, leaving his mother alone with his father. After the doctor finished his telephone call, he returned upstairs, and Edward telephoned his father’s brothers in Philadelphia and New York and spoke briefly with Maggie and Nellie in the kitchen. As he climbed the stairs, he could hear his father coughing again and hurried to his room. The doctor was preparing a hypodermic syringe as Edward entered the room, and he went straight to his mother, who was next to the bed holding his father’s hand as he coughed. She turned and looked at him as he came up to her. “Dr. Clark is giving your father an injection of morphine to help him rest.”_ _

__He stood next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “I have spoken to Aunt Josephine and Aunt Louise.”_ _

__Elizabeth nodded her head as she looked back to her husband, raised her hand, and squeezed Edward’s hand on her shoulder._ _

__By the time the ambulance arrived, Edward Sr. was sleeping soundly from the morphine, and Edward drove his mother to the hospital behind the ambulance._ _

__They were seated by his father’s bedside at the hospital hours later when Dr. Baxley arrived. “Edward? I was told you were here. How is your father?”_ _

__Edward had been sitting slumped forward in his chair with his head in his hands when Dr. Baxley arrived, and he ran his hand across his face as he stood. Elizabeth had dozed off a short while ago, and the two men stepped away to not wake her. “Not at all well, Dr. Baxley. He was given a Morphine injection and slept well for a while, but he awoke dazed and confused from the fever. He does not recognize us or that he is at the hospital. He has periods of very fitful sleep, and when he wakes he coughs terribly and shakes with chills.”_ _

__Edward looked at his father, who was sleeping restlessly at the moment. The last time he woke up had been especially bad. When he wasn’t coughing, his breathing was strained, shallow and rapid, as if he was out of breath, and he had stared at the clock on the wall as if terrified by it._ _

__Letting out a breath and still looking at his father, Edward continued hopelessly, “Every time he wakes is worse than the last.”_ _

__Dr. Baxley looked at him very sympathetically and offered words of encouragement that Edward barely heard. Both knew there were no words that could help. Both recognized that his father’s condition was very serious and deteriorating rapidly. A slight bluish tinge was now visible around his father’s lips as well as his ears._ _

__Dr. Baxley stayed a few minutes longer and offered his services if there was anything at all he could do for him or his mother before returning to his duties on the fourth floor._ _

__Edward stood where he was for a few moments looking at his parents, his father tossing and turning as if in pain even in his sleep, and his mother dozing in her uncomfortable metal chair with her head resting on her folded arm on the table next to his father’s bed. Never before in his life had Edward felt more helpless or alone. He returned to his chair on the other side of his father’s bed and sat again with his head in his hands and prayed._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, things had been going entirely too smoothly, don't you think? Did anyone need a tissue? That was kind of goal, because I'm a complete crybaby. Poor Edward, just when he needs Bella the most....
> 
> I tried to be as accurate as possible with Edward, Sr.'s symptoms of Spanish Flu. The Spanish Flu hit in three waves, the first being the most mild of the three and the second the worst by far. At this point, they don't even know there is an epidemic. However, some people had at least some idea there was a particularly bad flu this year. The Philadelphia Bureau of Public Health issued a bulletin in July 1918, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears and went mostly unnoticed. Of course, to be fair, by this time pretty much every hospital was severely short staffed with doctors and nurses lost to the war effort. In Philadelphia, according to the PBS website, "Over one-quarter of the city's doctors, and a larger portion of its nurses, were lending their medical talents to the nation's war efforts. At Philadelphia Hospital, 75% of medical and support staff were overseas." So, those left behind had their hands too full already to take much notice. This is why I chose to make Elizabeth a former hospital nurse and have her volunteer her time at the hospital, and make Edward - wanting to be a doctor - join her once the school year ended. I wanted to give Elizabeth the chance to spend enough time with Carlisle to catch on, and give Carlisle enough time to bond with Edward.
> 
> I'm a bit of a Titanic junkie, so I couldn't help but have Edward's family supposed to have sailed on her. And, coincidentally, this chapter first posted on the 100th anniversary of the sinking.
> 
> The fire at the Iroquois Theater that Edward's aunt, uncle, and cousins died in was real. The similarities between it and the Titanic disaster were so similar, I had to include it. The theater had only been open about five weeks at the time of the fire, and to this day, it remains the deadliest single-building fire in U.S. history. From beginning to end, it was only about 15 - 20 minutes, but in that time 602 people died. The theater was advertised as "Absolutely Fireproof" in spite of a tour by an editor of Fireproof Magazine during construction turning up multiple problems, including an inadequate number of exits. Additionally, a Chicago Fire Department captain touring the theater only days before opening noted no fire extinguishers, sprinklers, alarms, telephones, or water connections, and the only firefighting equipment on site being six cans of a dry chemical called "Killfyre" which was normally used to fight residential chimney fires. They did have a "fire curtain," but when they tried to lower it, it got caught up on lighting. It was tested after the fire and found to be made of mostly wood pulp and asbestos and would have been absolutely useless. Fire exits were hidden behind draperies. Other doors opened inward and were jammed as people rushed them. In the aftermath of the fire, building and fire codes were changed, and all exits had to be clearly marked and doors fixed so that they could be opened outward, but that practice did not become national until the Collinwood School Fire of 1908. The Iroquois fire prompted widespread implementation of the "panic bar" (you've seen them thousands of times, bars that run the width of the door that you push to open instead of a door nob). Panic bars had been developed in the UK in 1883 following a disaster there, and were mass manufactured in the US following the fire. They are now required by building codes for high-occupancy spaces. - Per Wikipedia.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my PTB beta, Thir13enth!
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

“Hello, may I help you?” 

“Yes, my name is Phil Dwyer. My fiancée and I have a meeting with Reverend Harrison.” 

“Have seat please, Mr. Dwyer. The Reverend will be right with you.” 

Phil walked back over to Renee and Bella, who were looking out the window at a beautiful gazebo surrounded by a small flower garden behind the church. “He’ll be right out.” 

“Oh, Phil, look. Isn’t it beautiful. Just picture it at sunset.”

Standing behind Renee, Phil wrapped his arms around her and agreed that it was beautiful. The gazebo was square in shape, painted white, ornate but not overly so, and fully open on one side which faced a small grassy area divided by path of flat stones lined on both sides with colorful flowers. The stone walkway fanned out as it approached the gazebo, and two steps led up to the raised floor so that the bridal party was elevated slightly over their guests.

They only waited a few moments before they were joined by the Reverend. “Phil, Renee, it is a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Reverend, this is my daughter, Bella. She is my maid of honor.” 

“A pleasure, Bella.” 

Gesturing with his hand, Reverend Harrison guided them to a door opposite the windows. “There is a small conference room right over here. If you would follow me, we can get started.” 

Renee and Phil had chosen a small non-denominational church near Camelback Mountain for their wedding ceremony. Although not particularly religious, Renee was just old fashioned enough that she wanted to be married in a church, and they both knew that Phil’s parents would be very disappointed if he was not married in a church. 

“Reverend Harrison, I noticed the gazebo area behind the church, would it be possible to have the ceremony there, instead of inside?” 

“Oh, yes. We’ve had many weddings in the gazebo; it’s very popular. We can only seat about twenty-five around it though, and there isn’t room in the gazebo itself for a large bridal party, only myself, the bridge and groom, maid of honor, and best man. Often, couples will have pictures taken in the gazebo after the ceremony if their wedding party is too large.” 

Renee’s face lit up, and she looked at Phil and squeezed his hand. “That would be perfect.”

The Reverend had a calendar planner in front of him and opened it to November. “You said on the phone you were interested in Saturday, November 28th. Correct? What time would you like the ceremony?” 

“Yes, November 28th. I believe Renee is interested in having the ceremony at sunset,” Phil answered, looking at Renee for confirmation.

She agreed. “Sunset would be wonderful. It must be absolutely beautiful.” 

After writing their names in the calendar, the Reverend turned to Renee. “Sunset ceremonies are very popular. The sun sets behind Camelback, and it is absolutely stunning. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Would 5:00 work for you? The service will take about twenty minutes.” 

“Yes, that would be fine.” 

“Very good, then. Now, music. We do have an organist, or if you prefer, you can hire your own.” 

Bella sat quietly, barely listening to her mother and Phil planning their wedding ceremony. It had only been a week since her decision to stop writing to Edward, but it felt like forever. She had never felt so lonely, so empty, and she looked absently around the room wondering for at least the hundredth time if she had made the right decision. 

_Stop it. You don’t have the right to interfere with a life that’s already been lived. You don’t belong to his world, and he doesn’t belong to yours. He has his friends, and he has his plans. Just because you don’t have a life, doesn’t mean you can risk messing up his. You’ve given him peace of mind, knowing that the war will end soon, and that is all you can give him. If you’re truly his friend, if you truly care about him, you have to let him go, let him live the life he was meant to, that he already has. He falls in love, marries, and has at least one child. Michael is proof of that. You can’t risk him losing his wife and child. What kind of friend would you be if you did?_

That was the one thought that always got to her the worst, the one that could bring her to her knees. She had met his grandson. Edward would eventually fall in love, marry, and have a child. Or children. With Violet, perhaps? 

Whoever he married one day, she knew he would be happy. From his letters, she knew he was a good person. Compassionate. Caring. She could tell he truly cared about the men he spent time with at the hospital. He didn’t volunteer his time out of a sense of obligation or to make himself look good or for any other selfish reason. He did it simply because he was good. That, she was sure of. Although she had known him for such a little while, Bella thought she already knew Edward better than she knew anyone else. 

Smiling a little to herself, Bella thought of Jane Austen’s character Mary Ann Dashwood. She had said that it was not time or opportunity that determined intimacy, that seven years wouldn't be enough for some people to get to really know each other, but that seven days were more than enough for others. 

_Except, Mary Ann Dashwood could not have been more wrong. The man she thought she knew was nothing like she thought he was_.

She wondered what Edward would say if he knew that in the movie version, Mary Ann Dashwood quoted the same sonnet he used to describe Anne Elliot and Captain Dashwood with Mr. Willoughby. 

_He’d probably go nuts._

She wondered what he thought of Mary Ann Dashwood, and she wished she could ask him. Bella didn’t think she would’ve been one of his favorite characters. Edward had described himself as a realist, but she thought there was a romantic inside him too. Mary Ann Dashwood was too overly romantic though, naively so… ridiculously so really, like a 12-year-old with her first crush would be. No, she was sure Mary Ann Dashwood would not be one of his favorite literary characters. 

Bella sighed sadly as she thought about Edward, how very quickly he had become so important to her, how quickly she had come to feel connected to him. _Seven years or seven days…_

“Or seven letters.” 

“Bella?” 

Bella looked at her mother and saw that she, Phil, and Reverend Harrison were all looking at her, and she panicked as she realized she'd spoken out loud. 

“Did you say something, baby?” 

“What? Oh, no. No, I... I was just… thinking… about something. I’m sorry.” 

Reverend Harrison continued on, but Renee and Phil looked at her for a few seconds longer before turning back to the Reverend. 

Bella knew she hadn’t been herself this week, and both her mom and Phil had been trying to get her talk about what was bothering her. If she was being perfectly honest, she hadn’t been herself since she got Edward’s first letter. She’d always been quiet. She’d never minded being alone. She was like her dad in that way. Her mom was the social one. Bella had always been perfectly content to sit at home and read. Now though, she couldn’t even think about any of her favorite books without thinking about Edward. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick them up; now, they only reminded her of the friend she had lost. 

There were so many things she wanted to tell him or ask him, but she knew she couldn’t. What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he wondering why she hadn’t written yet? Was he angry, or worried, or hurt? Would he ever forgive her? Would he forget her? From Sense and Sensibility and Mary Ann Dashwood, Bella's mind drifted to Pride and Prejudice, and Elizabeth Bennett’s voice rang in her head, “I cannot bear to think that he is alive in the world and thinking ill of me.” 

It was no use even trying to concentrate on anything that didn’t involve him. She had rented The Time Machine and had gotten the book. It was the only book she could bring herself to read. 

“Bella and Phil’s brother, Andrew, are doing the readings.” 

Hearing her name, Bella groaned to herself. She was doing the first reading. She was so not looking forward to this. She was counting on Phil’s brother, Andrew, to get her down the aisle without falling, but she didn’t know what her mother was thinking, having her stand up in front of everyone, in heels and a gown no less, and give a reading. 

And now, with the gazebo, she'd have stairs to deal with. This was a disaster waiting to happen. 

“Very good, and have you looked at any readings?” 

Suddenly, Bella got an idea. If she could keep a piece of Edward with her, maybe it wouldn’t be as bad. “Actually, Reverend, I don’t know if it’s allowed, but I was thinking I’d like to read from Shakespeare, if that’s OK?” 

Her mother smiled at her. No, she wasn't just smiling; she was absolutely beaming at her. “Oh, baby. You thought about that? Oh, that would be beautiful.” 

Renee turned her glowingly happy smile on the Reverend. “Is that OK, Reverend?” 

“Oh, yes, depending on the verse, of course, but we have had couples use a poem or verse with special meaning to them before. What did you have in mind, Bella?” 

“A sonnet, I don’t know which one it is, or if I have the words right, but it’s something like ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no. It is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.’ I, I, I heard it... somewhere... and... I don’t know, I just, I really liked it. I’m not sure if I got it right.” 

Bella knew very well she had the right words. She must’ve read each of Edward's letters fifty times at least. She could probably recite them word for word, beginning to end. 

_A realist? Please. Realists don’t quote Shakespeare to girls living ninety one years in the future, Edward. You are such a hopeless romantic._

“Ah, yes. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116. Is that what you would like then, Renee? Phil?” 

Her mother was still smiling that same radiant smile as she answered the Reverend with tears forming in her eyes. “Oh, yes. Bella, that’s beautiful. Thank you, baby. It’s perfect.” 

“Phil?” 

Great, now Phil was grinning at her like that, too. “I’m good with whatever make the ladies happy.” 

Making notes of what had been decided, the Reverend continued on. “Next, I will talk about marriage and the solemnity of the vows you are making, then we will proceed onto the second reading.” 

The Reverend had several print outs of suggested readings, and her mother and Phil chose 1 Corinthians 13:1-13. 

They talked about their vows, but Renee and Phil were undecided if they wanted to use standard vows or write their own. 

“Next, comes the exchanging of the rings, followed by a short acknowledgment of the vows you have made to each other, and the only thing left is to pronounce you husband and wife, you kiss, I introduce you as Mr. and Mrs. Phil Dwyer, and everyone claps.”  
.  
..ooOoo..  
.  
Later that evening, Bella was lying on her bed, once again reading The Time Machine, when Phil came and knocked on her door. She knew her mom and Phil were worried that something was bothering her, so she had left her bedroom door open hoping it wouldn’t look like she was shutting herself off. 

_It’s not like I’m doing anything special anyway._

“Pizza’s here. Watcha reading?” 

As she got up, Bella handed him the book, and he looked at it for a minute before laying it down on her desk. “Didn’t you just read that a few days ago?” 

She forced herself to smile and asked him how many times he had seen the Three Stooges episode he watched last night. 

“That’s different though, that’s the Stooges. They’re classics.” 

Bella walked out of her room shaking her head, but Phil called her back. “Bella, wait a sec.” Slowly turning to face him, she braced herself for another round of “What’s wrong with Bella?” He must’ve known what she was thinking, because he put his hands up in surrender. “I know, I know, you’re fine, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to tell you how happy you made your mom today. She’s so happy you put so much thought into what you wanted to read for the wedding that she hasn't stopped talking about it since we got home.” 

Bella looked down at the ground, embarrassed, and shrugged her shoulders. She hadn’t thought about it at all; the idea just popped into her head. And she'd been thinking about Edward when she suggested it, not her mother. 

Thinking she was embarrassed because she was getting emotional about the wedding, Phil laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and put his hand on her shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze as they walked out to the patio. “Right, enough of the emotional stuff, let’s go eat.” 

Renee was already on the patio and called into them, asking them if they could grab the wedding planner Reverend Harrison had given them. 

“I’ll grab it, mom. Where is it?” 

“I think I left it on the kitchen table.” 

After a few minutes of looking, Bella found it on the end table in the living room. 

_It really is a good thing all her limbs are securely attached... A new wedding planner really wasn’t necessary, she’s already got one. Although, this one really is prettier. The other one is just plain white with some calligraphy on it._

The new wedding planner from Reverend Harrison had a definite religious theme to it, hardly surprising, since it was from the church. It had a picture on one corner of a woman’s hand resting on top of a man’s showing off their new wedding rings, and there was a faint image of a third hand, large, strong, and masculine, beneath theirs. The picture took up about half of the cover then faded away. 

Bella had never been a religious person. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, it was more that she just never really thought about it. She supposed if someone were to ask her point blank, she would say that, yes, she believed there was some type of God or supreme being who had created the universe. The alternative, that everything just sort of… BANG, appeared out of nothing… that the countless cells and nerves of the human body, that the entire interdependent ecosystem that was the planet Earth, just happened strictly by chance…. It just didn’t feel plausible. 

As she looked at the picture on the cover, Bella felt herself genuinely smiling for the first time in a week. There was just something very comforting about it. Just the idea that there really was some kind of creator or protector out there, and that he was on your side, made her feel more at peace than she had since she realized she had to stop writing to Edward. The idea that he would fall in love with someone and marry her someday didn’t hurt quite so much as it did before. 

_Just be happy, Edward. That’s all I want. For you to be happy._

The other half of the cover had something written on it, and if the picture had reassured her, what was written above it left her reeling. 

_“God gifts us with many miracles in our lives. He leaves it to us to chose to accept them or turn away. You have chosen this day to accept the miracle God has gifted you with, the miracle of each other. Cherish, honor, and guard His miracle always. Enter into this marriage knowing that accepting His miracle will not be easy. You will walk a path together, not knowing what lies around the corner, but be not afraid. You have found each other along your path in life by His will, and He will walk it with you, if you ask Him. Respect each other, cherish and love each other, do not hide your fears from each other, be honest and open with each other, and commit to live your lives together for all the days to come.”_  
Bella must’ve stood there holding the planner longer than she realized, because her mother came looking for her. “Oh good, you found it. Wasn’t it on the kitchen table?” 

She knew must’ve answered her mother, because she could hear herself speaking, but it didn’t sound like her voice, and she couldn’t understand the words. She went through dinner almost in a sort of a trance. She heard her mother and Phil talking, and she heard herself answering them, but she had no idea what was being said. She ate, but she couldn’t taste anything. She could’ve been eating dirt for all she knew. It was like her brain had split in two. One half focused on talking and eating and looking normal, and the other half, the half that felt real, focused solely on what she had just read. 

“… _God gifts us with many miracles in our lives. He leaves it to us to choose to accept them or turn away… ...You have found each other along your path in life by His will, and He will walk it with you if you ask Him… ...do not hide your fears from each other, be honest and open with each other… ...chose to accept or turn away…”_

After dinner, Phil and her mother went to the batting cages. When he spoke Baseball, he may as well have been speaking Greek, because neither of them understood a word of it, but her mother was trying to learn. 

_What is a “K” anyway? When one guy gets one, it’s bad, but when another guy gets one, it’s good, and sometimes they write the K backwards. What’s up with that? I’ll have to ask Edward._

Bella was getting The Time Machine DVD out to watch again when she realized what she'd just thought, and she dropped heavily down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. 

_Crap. I’ve got to stop doing that._

How had he become such a large part of her so quickly? She still felt like her brain was split in two, but now the two halves had flipped over, and the half that was focused on the words on the planner was the half that didn’t feel real. She watched the movie for a while, until the scene when Alexander learns that he can't save Emma. It was her fate to die. He can't prevent it, because it was her death that caused him to build the time machine in the first place. 

_If he saves her, and she doesn’t die... then, he has no reason to build the time machine, because she is alive and well... but if he doesn’t build the time machine, he can’t be there to save her, and she dies... like she was supposed to... and he builds the time machine again to try to save her. No matter how many times he goes back to save her, she dies some other way, her death can’t be prevented, because it was her death that started it._

Bella was starting to feel dizzy. She knew what she was trying to say, or rather to think, but she felt like she was running around in circles, and she couldn’t make sense of it. Then, suddenly, she felt like the two halves of her brain slammed back together, and it made perfect sense. She couldn’t understand now how she hadn’t been able to understand before. 

“...God gifts us with many miracles in our lives. He leaves it to us to choose to accept them or turn away…” Michael gave me the desk, and I found Edward’s letter. I chose to write to him, and he chose to write back. “…You have found each other along your path in life by His will…” Edward said he felt a strong connection to me, and I know I feel a strong connection to him. I know how well I feel like I know him. “...You will walk a path together, not knowing what lies around the corner, but be not afraid... ...He will walk it with you if you ask Him…” “...do not hide your fears from each other, be honest and open with each other…” 

_That’s exactly what I did. I got scared, and I chose to walk away. I never even told him why. Oh, Edward, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. It’ll never happen again. I can’t prevent you from living your life as you were meant to any more than Alexander could prevent Emma from dying as she was meant to. If you don’t meet your wife one way, you’ll meet her another way. You have to, because if you don’t, Michael will never be born, because his father would never have been born, and he would not have been there to give me the desk in the first place._

Bella was giddy with laughter and sobbing tears at the same time, and it was the weirdest and best feeling ever. She laughed even harder as she put the DVD away and walked to her room. 

_It’s a good thing Phil isn’t here, if he saw me now, I doubt there would be anything I could say to convince him I’m not on drugs._

As she sat down at their desk for the first time in a week, Bella gently ran her fingers over the stained green leather. 

I’m back, Edward. I’m here, and I will never leave again.

There were so many things to say, to ask, but first, she had to apologize. She hardly knew how to start. 

_“...He will walk it with you if you but ask Him...”_

Bella couldn’t remember every actually, really praying for something before. Sure, she had said prayers at bedtime when she was little, and she remembered saying Grace with her Gramma at dinner when she visited, but this was different. Before, she'd just been going through the motions, saying the words she’d been taught to say; it wasn’t something she actually felt. Not like this. This she could feel in her blood.  
_God, please... Please, all I want is for him to be happy, please._  
.  
..ooOoo..  
.  
Edward jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He sat up quickly and looked around, disoriented for a moment, before he remembered where he was. 

“I am sorry, Edward. I didn’t mean to startle you. I did not realize you were asleep.” 

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Edward squinted in the now dark room, looking at the clock on the wall. They’d been at the hospital for over nine hours. Dr. Cullen was standing at the head of his father’s bed, bent over examining him. 

“Dr. Cullen,” Edward stood up, stretched, and looked around the room, “do you know where my mother is?” 

“She excused herself for a moment. I am sure she will be right back.” 

Edward stepped up to his father’s bed and stood next to Dr. Cullen. At the sight of his father laying there, he gasped and turned quickly away covering his face with his hand. He was at least glad that his mother hadn’t been there to see his reaction. The sight of his father had left Edward feeling sick to his stomach, and he swallowed hard against the nausea, taking a moment to compose himself before slowly turning back. 

Dr. Cullen had turned away from his father and was watching him closely, concern written all over his face. “Edward?” 

Edward shook his head determinedly and forced himself to look at his father. 

_How long had I been asleep?_

“I’m fine. I apologize. It was… just… the shock.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Edward. I can only imagine what you have been through today.” 

Dr. Cullen turned back to Edward, Sr. and finished his examination. Edward silently watched him work and felt a growing dread inside him, like his veins were turning to lead. His father was awake and staring blindly away from him across the room. He did not turn toward his son at the sound of his voice or show any indication that he was even aware he and Dr. Cullen were there. He was lying very still, but every once in a while his entire body would shudder, and he moaned in pain. His breathing was wheezy, gasping, as if he had just run up several flights of stairs. 

_That terrible blue color... it covers his entire face and neck. His cheeks... he looks as if he’d been beaten_. 

After he completed his examination, Dr. Cullen straightened and took his stethoscope off. Edward spoke without taking his eyes off his father, his voice flat. “Dr. Cullen, please. Tell me the truth.” 

Dr. Cullen was quiet for a moment before answering reluctantly in a low voice, “Your father has the worst, most vicious case of pneumonia I have ever seen. His lungs are filling with fluid, and his breathing is becoming more and more labored. He is not taking in enough oxygen, which is causing the cyanosis. He has a very rapid, irregular heartbeat, and we have been unable to control his fever. I confess, I have never seen anything like it.” 

Edward closed his eyes as he tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat. “What can be done? Surely, there must be something that can be done.” 

Dr. Cullen shook his head slowly. “I am sorry, Edward. We are doing everything humanly possible, but, so far, nothing is helping.” 

Edward couldn’t believe this was happening. Modern medicine was amazing, the things they could do, the discoveries that had been made, and things they now knew... There had to be something that could be done. There had to be. 

His father had been fine this morning. This could not be happening. They had had breakfast together this morning. Edward thought back, trying to remember breakfast. 

Was there some sign I missed? Did he eat? Did he cough or complain of a sore throat? What did we talk about? Why can I not remember? I… I may… never… have another chance… to talk to him. Why can I not remember what we talked about?

“Edward. Look at me.” 

Almost against his will, Edward opened his eyes and looked at the other man. 

“I know what you are thinking, and you are wrong.” 

Edward continued to look at the doctor; he didn‘t think he could turn away if he tried. “I don’t… I don’t… know… what you mean.” 

“Listen to me. Believe me. There is absolutely nothing you could have done to prevent this.” As if a spell had been broken, Edward was finally able to look away. He felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. Dr. Cullen's words... that was exactly what he had been thinking... but he was wrong.

“No. I should have… I should have noticed… something. There had to have been some sign, some indication.” He continued in barely a whisper, “I cannot even remember what we discussed at breakfast.” 

Dr. Cullen spoke in his comforting, musical voice. “You are suffering from the shock of the suddenness of your father’s illness. I am sure you will remember in time.” 

Edward wiped his hands over his face and shook his head. “Does he even know we are here?” Before Dr. Cullen could answer him, his father began coughing again, and his mother rushed into the room. This time the coughing was even worse, and his whole body jerked and shook with the force of his coughing. Dr. Cullen called loudly for a nurse a moment before Edward, Sr. began coughing up large amounts of blood. 

Edward felt like he was trapped in a nightmare that kept getting worse. His mother gripped his arm like a vice as two nurses rushed into the room to assist Dr. Cullen, and he took a few steps back with her to make room for them to work. 

Edward’s legs began to feel week at the sight of so much blood, and he reached behind himself blindly feeling for something to grab onto to keep himself upright. He heard his mother quietly crying next to him, and he forced himself to focus on taking care of her and not think about anything else. _Father would want me to, would_ expect _me to take care of her... for him._

“Mother, come with me. Please... come away.” 

Although exhausted, Elizabeth fought against him as much as she could. Her body was beginning to tremble, but her gaze was locked firmly on her husband. “No, Edward, no, I cannot leave him. I cannot leave him.” 

He tried to step back toward the door, lightly tugging on his mother’s arm. “Please, Mother, just for a moment. We will not go far, just the hall, but we must let Dr. Cullen and the nurses work. Please, come with me.” 

Dr. Cullen looked up from his work and spoke in the same authoritative voice which left no room for argument that he had used with Edward few minutes ago, “Elizabeth, go with your son. I give you my word, I will stay with him until you return.” 

Finally, his mother gave in and stepped back out of the room with him. Together, they sat on a bench in the hallway, and Elizabeth collapsed into her son’s arms, her whole body shaking with her tears. 

A nurse soon bustled past them carrying a small bundle of white in her arms, and Edward watched her enter the ward with an odd, growing sense of detachment. He felt as if he was watching a scene in a movie that he badly wanted to walk out of but could not, that he was trapped inside the movie with the scene happening around him. He also felt a growing anger that he could not explain. Although Edward knew it was irrational, he was growing angry at everyone and everything. He was angry at Dr. Cullen for not being able to do more to save his father. He was angry at his father for getting sick, for not being able to fight this off. He was angry at his mother for not having prevented this somehow. He was angry at the world for carrying on around him as if nothing was wrong. But more than anything, he was angry at himself for not being able to do something, anything, to help his father, for not having noticed _something_ wrong at breakfast

As he sat there holding his mother, Edward heard his father’s coughing finally stop, and after a few more minutes, the same nurse hurried past them again carrying another small bundle, this one soaked with blood. 

_Coughing. It is too mild a word. There should be a different word for that God awful sound._

He sat there in a daze, unblinkingly staring, waiting. Waiting for what, he did not know. Waiting to wake up... Waiting to be told there was something that could be done after all, something that would make everything right again... Waiting to be told it was over...

Eventually, the two nurses who had first come to help Dr. Cullen came to tell them they could go back in, Dr. Cullen was waiting for them. They both had blood on their clothes. Edward did not know how long he and his mother had sat on that bench waiting. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. He stood and stretched. His body both ached and felt numb at the same time. 

He turned and reached his hand down to his mother to help her up. She took his hand and stood but seemed unable to move. She took a deep breath and shook herself, as if coming out of a trance. “Forgive me, Edward. I should not have broken down like that.” 

Wrapping his arm around her, Edward held her gently and placed a kiss on her forehead. His beautiful, strong mother looked like a shell of her former self. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face was deathly pale, there were lines around her eyes and mouth, and her hair and clothing were in complete disarray. She looked to have become an old woman in a day, and as he offered her his arm, and they slowly walked back into the room, Edward was sure he looked no better. 

Dr. Cullen was leaning over his father’s bed, carefully adjusting his blankets. His white coat had been flung on an empty bed, and he had rolled up his shirt sleeves. Edward suspected he knew why. 

He walked with his mother to his father’s bedside, and she resumed her place in the chair next to his bed, reaching for his father’s hand, but he whimpered and moaned in pain at her touch, and she dropped it immediately as if she had been burned. She turned wide, frightened eyes to the doctor, who could only shake his head sadly. 

“I am afraid his fever has escalated further. It is now 104.8. He is delirious and in tremendous pain. Even the lightest touch causes him pain. I have given him an additional injection of morphine to make him as comfortable as possible, but I am afraid that is all I can do.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “His lungs are continuing to fill with fluid, which is making his breathing more and more difficult and painful.” 

Elizabeth nodded her head and spoke to him without taking her eyes from her husband, resigned. “Thank you for everything you have done, Dr. Cullen.” She could not continue and began quietly crying again. Dr. Cullen stepped forward handing her a handkerchief, which she accepted, and wiping her eyes, Elizabeth tried to compose herself. When she was able to speak again, she tore her eyes away from her husband and looked at the doctor. Her eyes held so much pain that both Dr. Cullen and Edward knew what she was going to ask before she spoke. “How long?” 

Dr. Cullen shook his head sadly. “I do not know. Not long. A few hours, perhaps. Not longer. Possibly less.” 

Elizabeth felt as if the world was being ripped out from under her. She could hear her son and Dr. Cullen speaking to her, and she wanted to respond, but she could not make her body obey her wishes. She could see Edward kneel before her and could see him holding her hands, but she could not feel his skin against hers. She tried but could not speak to him. A blackness was creeping all around her, and it was closing in. She heard her son calling her, but his voice seemed to sound as if it was coming from far away and drifting further away every second. The blackness nearly surrounded her now, and she tried to fight it off, but it continued to creep in, and she could feel herself falling. 

“Mother!” Edward caught his mother as she fainted, and Dr. Cullen helped him lay her down in the bed next to his father’s before leaving briefly and returning with smelling salts. He waved them beneath her nose, and she slowly opened her eyes, looking around the room in momentary confusion before her eyes rested on her husband and immediately filled with tears again. She tried to rise but Dr. Cullen prevented her. 

“Mrs. Masen, when was the last time you ate?” 

Looking at him, bewildered, she tried to rise again. “I… I don’t… earlier… the nurses… I have to go to him.” 

Edward was shaking and struggled force the words through the tightness in his throat. “The nurses were kind enough to bring us some dinner earlier, but she did not touch it.” 

Dr. Cullen nodded his head. “I thought as much.” He helped her stand slowly and walked with her to her husband's bedside before turning to Edward. “And you, did you eat?” 

Behind his mother with his hand on her shoulder, Edward had to swallow several times before speaking again. “A little.” 

“I know it is late, but you may be in for a very long night. You both must eat something. I am going to go and see what I can find for you both.” 

Neither mother nor son spoke while the doctor was gone, both silently maintaining their vigil at Edward, Sr.’s bedside, watching helplessly as he fought to breathe. He was in a deep sleep now, as a result of the latest injection of morphine, but every breathe he drew was an agonized, desperate gasp for air. 

Dr. Cullen returned with some fruit and cheese and instructed them to eat. “You must keep up your strength. I will not have either of you falling ill as well.” He stayed only long enough to satisfy himself that they had both at least eaten some of it before instructing them not to hesitate to send for him if there was anything they needed and leaving to give them some privacy. 

A short while after he left, the nurses from earlier returned in fresh, clean uniforms and turned down the beds on either side of his father. “Dr. Cullen thought you might be more comfortable if you lie down for a short while, Mrs. Masen.” 

Elizabeth showed no sign she'd heard them or had even noticed they were there. Edward thanked them, but he knew his mother would not move from her seat until… Until. 

The minutes passed and turned into hours as his father slipped further and further away from them. That horrible blue color was darkening as his breathing grew steadily more and more labored, and Edward thought he could actually hear the liquid that was drowning him gurgling in his lungs as he struggled to draw breath. 

Dr. Cullen returned at least once an hour to examine his father and check on them. Edward’s only consolation was that his father did not wake at all, and there were no more coughing fits. He clung to the hope that at least in his sleep, his father was not in pain. 

Finally, hours later, his father’s breathing started to grow more and more shallow, weaker. Elizabeth grasped her husband’s hand one last time, kissed it, and held it to face as she cried. Edward’s eyes were riveted to his father as the time between his breaths grew, and without realizing it, he was holding his own breath, silently counting, waiting for his father’s next breath. 

_...twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…_

Dr. Cullen silently entered the room and bent over his father. Edward's lungs began to protest in earnest, but he did not inhale.

_...thirty-four, thirty-five…_

Dr. Cullen straightened, and Edward saw him look quickly at the clock on the wall before speaking. 

“Mrs. Masen, Edward, I am so terribly sorry.” 

Not speaking, his mother continued to sit there holding her husband’s hand to her cheek and crying. Trying in vain to fight back his tears, Edward closed his eyes tightly and forced out the words to thank Dr. Cullen for everything he had done for them. 

At home some time later–it could have been several hours later, Edward really had no idea–he was sitting in his room at his desk, alone, and staring at the green leather. His mother was finally in bed asleep, but she had been unable to bear facing the room she had shared with her husband and was in a guest room. When he'd arrived home with his mother, he'd been unspeakably grateful to find both that Nellie and Maggie had waited up for them. Both women had fallen asleep on the couches in the parlor, but they awoke the moment he and his mother entered the room and quickly took charge of his mother, getting her upstairs and undressed and into bed. Before he and his mother had left the hospital, Dr. Cullen had given him a small envelope containing four Veronal tablets to help them sleep. Edward had given his mother one once she was in bed, and she'd cried herself to sleep a short while later. He had not taken one himself, but Maggie had insisted on leaving one with a glass of water on the table beside his bed. 

Once closed in his room for the night, Edward had prepared for bed, but he could not bring himself to lie down. He was utterly exhausted and felt weary to his bones, but he knew he would be unable to sleep. He felt numb and lost and alone, and without thinking about what he was doing, he picked up his pen and opened a pot of ink and wrote only three words on a small slip of paper. The moment he opened the hidden compartment and saw Bella’s letter laying there waiting for him, Edward gave in to the tears he had been trying to fight all evening, and he picked up her letter with shaking hands and put the small slip of paper in its place. Laying his forehead down on his desk next to her letter and clasping his hands behind his neck, he let his tears fall as he remembered his father. 

He remembered his sixth birthday when he opened up his gift, his very first baseball and mitt... They had spent all day in the yard as his father taught him to throw and to catch, with his mother watching them from the back porch and encouraging him. They’d had yellow cake with chocolate icing and strawberry ice cream, his favorite. 

He thought about all the baseball games he and his father had gone to. The best had to be the first game of the World Series last year against New York. The Sox won by a single run. Eddie Cicotte threw a complete game, Edward remembered, and Happy Felsch hit a home run in the forth, which turned out to be the difference in the game. The Giants had a chance in the 8th when Benny Kauff reached on a Fred McMullin error, but there were already two down, and Cicotte picked him off. He and his father had been on their feet cheering wildly with the rest of the crowd. 

He remembered all the chess matches and how patiently his father had taught him the game. 

He remembered his father teaching him to drive, and he remembered all the Sunday drives and picnics with his parents. His father loved cars and driving, and his new Cadillac Type 57 Touring Car was… had been his most prized possession. 

Edward sat, thinking about his father for quite some time before eventually picking Bella’s letter back up.

_Dear Edward,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written sooner. I think I’ve been lost in a fog of my own. It made me very happy to read that you feel a strong connection to me, I feel a strong connection to you, too. But it also scared me. Edward, I know you’re only 17, and I know you’ve got your whole life in front of you, but please understand, from my point of view, you’ve already lived your life. You’ve already fallen in love, gotten married, and had children and grandchildren. I got scared. I started to worry that I might somehow unintentionally screw that up for you. It was only just a few minutes ago that I realized I can’t, or at least I really don’t think I can. I read The Time Machine, and I got the movie. The movie adds quite a bit to the story. It was directed by H. G. Wells’ great grandson, by the way. The Time Traveler lives in New York instead of London. In the movie, the Traveler is named Dr. Alexander Hartdegen. He is engaged to a woman named Emma, who is killed by a robber, and he invents the time machine to go back and prevent her murder. He does prevent the murder, but she dies another way. No matter what he does or how many time he tries, he cannot save her, because it was her death that caused him to build the time machine in the first place. If she doesn’t die, he will never invent the time machine to go back and prevent her murder. I can’t accidentally prevent you from meeting your wife and having your family, because if you don’t have your family, I will never meet your grandson and get your desk to be able to write to you in the first place. Am I making any sense? I’m confused and my head is going around in circles, but I think I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t at least tell you what I was afraid of. I read something today that said we shouldn’t hide our fears from the people we care about, we should be honest and open with them. I’m sorry I didn’t do that. I got scared, and I made a decision that affected us both without even telling you, and I'm sorry._

_Your family was really going to sail on the Titanic? That’s incredible. Thank God you didn’t. How did your mother convince your father? I’m so sorry about your aunt and uncle and your cousins. Your poor mother, she must’ve been devastated. Not just her sister, but the children, too. It’s no wonder she hasn’t gotten over it. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but I’m sure I would feel the same way._

_You're welcome to try to teach me about baseball, but I'm warning you, don’t get your hopes up. I still think it’s a lot of standing around and waiting. I’m glad your team won, though. Phil plays outfield too. He was all excited the other night because, let me try to get this right, he “snow-coned one as it went over the wall”. What does that mean? And what is a “K”? And why is it sometimes written backwards? I was happy to read about your double play; I will remember that one, at least._

_I see what you mean about Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth. I liked Persuasion, but I think I like it more now._

_I went with my mom and Phil this morning to a meeting with the Reverend about their wedding. I was thinking about you and how you used that sonnet to describe them. I’m going to read it during the ceremony. I feel really guilty, though. My mom is so happy because she thinks I thought of it for her, but I have to admit, I was only thinking about you._

_Babysitting is when you watch someone’s children for them when they have to go out._

_The capitol of Illinois is Chicago._

_I will read some of the books you mentioned. Write to me soon._

_Your friend,_

_Bella_

As grief stricken as Edward was, he couldn’t help but smile at what she wrote. She was worried about him. He didn’t like that she was upset, of course, but he was deeply touched that she cared that much about him. 

_…we shouldn’t hide our fears from the people we care about…_

_She cares about me, too. She feels connected to me, too_.

He reread her letter and shook his head. 

_Honestly, Bella. Chicago?_

He yawned deeply as he reached for another piece of paper and sent her another small note. Standing and stretching, Edward yawned again. He was still devastated at his father’s death, all of the pain was still there, but the feeling of being lost and alone was easing, and the pain was easier to bear. He knew he would be able to sleep without having to take a Veronal tablet now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone happy Bella came to her senses in time to be there for Edward when he needed her? 
> 
> It's my understanding that Edward's father died in the first wave of the epidemic. There is some conflicting info online about when exactly the first wave was. The symptoms of the Spanish flu were so severe, doctors at the time didn't even classify it as influenza, so deaths could've been attributed to any of a number of things. I saw a chart online that showed a small rise in deaths that were attributed to the flu in July, so that's what I went with for Edward, Sr. I didn't realize until it was too late to change it that it was a chart for the U.K., but by then it was too worked into the time line and I couldn't change it. 
> 
> Edward and his mother have a temporary reprieve, but their time will come. I don't want to go too much into the flu right now, but much more will come later. I tried to be as accurate as possible with the symptoms of the Spanish flu. The Spanish flu was sometimes called “Purple Death” or “Blue Death” because of the cyanosis caused by a lack of oxygen in the blood. Several websites I read said that sometimes, the blue color became so pronounced it was actually difficult to determine the patient's original skin color. During the worst of it, triaging nurses would check new patients' feet. If the feet were black, the patient was deemed beyond help, and they had no choice but to move on to someone else who they had a hope of saving. It sounds terrible, but you have to remember how desperately short staffed they already were and people were falling sick by the 100's of 1000's. 
> 
> On a much lighter note, the details Edward remembers the first game of the 1917 World Series are accurate. It was very considerate of the 1917 White Sox to win, don't you think? It fits so well in my story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my PTB beta, Thir13eenth!  
> .  
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> .  
> The author of the poem Bella sends Edward is Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. 

_Ugh, where is that stupid beeping noise coming from?_ Oh. Right. Groaning as she buried her head under her pillow, Bella reached out blindly for the snooze button. _I’d like mornings much better if they didn’t start so early. Forget diamonds, the snooze button is this girl’s best friend._

Twenty minutes and several snooze buttons later, Bella forced herself to get out of bed and walked with her eyes half shut to her bathroom, “Ow!!!” and stubbed her pinky toe on the corner of her desk. _Ow, ow, ow, ow! Perfect. Happy Freaking Monday._ Holding onto the desk, she hopped to her chair to take a look at her foot. _Hmm, no blood, not broken. Just hurts like hell._ She stood up and took few tentative steps around her room. _Hurts, but I’ve had worse._

Sitting back down, Bella looked around her room. She couldn’t remember it, but she thought she must’ve had a bad dream last night because she had an anxious, sick feeling, like something terrible had happened. Shrugging it off as her imagination, Bella looked down at her desk and ran her fingers over the green leather as she thought about Edward. _It hasn’t been that long since I wrote to him. He might not even have read it yet, let alone written back._ She decided she might as well check, or she’d be wondering about it all day. When she looked, she was happy to see that something was there, but was surprised that it was only two small scraps of paper. She picked them both up and laughed as she read the first one.

 

_Chicago? Honestly, Bella. The capitol of Illinois is Springfield._

_Cocky, Edward, very cocky. Where are your Victorian manners? Isn’t it rude to tease a girl? Hmm, I wonder if he’d believe me if I wrote back and said they changed it, and it's Chicago now?_ Still smiling, she read the second one and felt her stomach drop to her feet as her smile was erased from her face and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. 

_My father died._

_Oh, God. Oh, Edward. Oh, God, Edward, I’m so sorry._ Heartbroken for him, Bella wanted to write back right away, but she didn’t know what she could possibly say to help and sat there for a few minutes wiping the tears from her eyes feeling completely useless. What could she possible say to help him? She’d never lost anyone so close to her, and she couldn’t imagine what he was going through. She’d lost her grandparents, but that was different. Not that she didn’t love them–she did–but it wasn’t like she thought losing a parent would be. 

_And it must’ve been very sudden. He never mentioned that his father was sick, and in his first letter to his cousin, he'd said he and his father went to a baseball game together, that was only a month ago._

She tried to remember back to her grandparents’ funerals, trying to think of something, anything, that someone had said that at least didn’t sound lame. _There was that poem.... What was it again?_ She couldn’t remember much of it, but she hoped what little she remembered would be enough to search it online. 

As she went to the living room to use the computer, she wished again she could have one in her room. Her mother was already up and reading the paper in the kitchen. “Bella? Haven’t you gotten in the shower yet?” 

Distracted, Bella tapped her fingers on the small computer desk, impatiently waiting for it to turn on. “I will in a sec. I just need to check something real quick first.” Hopefully, her mother wouldn’t ask any more questions; she needed to find this and write to Edward as soon as she could. 

Once finally online, she found the poem she was looking for and quickly copied it down. “Got it.” She looked up at the clock. Crap. She had hit the snooze button one or two–okay, four–too many times, and she really was running late, but this couldn’t wait. If she was late, so be it; this was more important. “I’ll just take a real quick shower. In and out.” 

Back in her room, sore toe completely forgotten, Bella wrote a short note to Edward telling him how sorry she was on the other side of the poem. 

After showering and dressing as quickly as she could without risking serious bodily injury, and with her still wet hair pulled back into a ponytail, Bella grabbed a pop tart on her way out the door, yelled good-bye to her mother, and made it to the bus stop just in time. 

Thinking about Edward and his father led her to thinking about her own father. She was glad she had decided to just stay in Forks when she visited him. By this time, she knew, he'd already be at work, and even though he'd told her it didn’t matter–he was the boss after all–she didn’t like to call him at work. _I know I just called on Saturday, but I really do want to talk to him. Maybe just for a minute._ There was plenty of time before homeroom, and she found a relatively quiet spot to call. 

“Forks Police Department, may I help you?” 

She didn’t recognize the voice, but whoever it was sounded very young. She remembered her dad mentioning the police department had been approved for a state grant and had hired a new part-time officer. This must be him. “This is Bella Swan, Charlie’s daughter. Is my dad around?” 

“Oh, hey, Bella. It’s nice to put a voice to the name. Your dad talks about you all the time. Hang on, lemme get him.” 

She only had to wait a few seconds before her dad picked up. “Bells? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad. I just wanted to say good morning.” 

“Good morning. Now what’s wrong?” 

She laughed a little thinking she really needed to loosen up a bit if she was so set in a pattern that breaking it automatically made people assume something must be wrong. “Really, Dad, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to say hi.” 

“You’re sure? You never call in the morning and you never call me at work.” 

“Yeah, Dad, really. I’m sure. I just wanted to say good morning.” 

“I didn’t think you thought there was any such thing as a good morning. Didn’t you say it was contradiction in terms?” 

That was one way she was more like her mom than her dad. Her dad was a morning person. She very definitely was not. “Oh, ha ha. This from the man who says I have no future as a comedian. Good thing the police thing worked out.” 

They both laughed for a few seconds. “I gotta go, Dad. I have to get to homeroom. I just wanted to say have a good day.” As an afterthought she added, “And be careful.” 

“Always am. You have a good day and be careful, too. Don’t fall down any stairs or, you know, get hit by any falling meteors or anything.” 

“Oh, ha ha, you’re on a roll today. I already had my daily accident, got it over and done with three steps out of bed. Stubbed my toe.” 

Both laughing, they said good bye, and she walked to homeroom still thinking about her dad. 

_I know it’s only Forks, but still... he is a cop. If anything happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do._  
.  
..ooOoo..  
.  
Edward lie in his bed, listening to the rain pounding against his window. The sun that had made a brief appearance yesterday was gone again. _I’m glad it’s raining. It should not be sunny today._ He knew he had to get up, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

It was still relatively early, and he hadn’t heard anyone else moving around yet. He hoped his mother would sleep late. Yesterday and last night had been horrible, and today would be nearly as bad. There was no need for her to start it any earlier than necessary. 

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Edward thought about what was to come today. 

He was the man of the house now, and there were things he was going to have to do today that he was dreading. His uncles would need to be telephoned first thing. He would need to telephone Mr. Carrington, hopefully he could take care of anything work related. His father’s attorney would need to be telephoned, and… and... the arrangements… would need to be made. 

He was dreading seeing his father laid out in the parlor. When he looked in the parlor, he wanted to remember his father playing chess or sitting there reading the paper, not laid out in a casket. 

His uncles, aunts, and cousins would need to be picked up at the station. How soon could they get here? Where would they stay? Would they expect to be put up here at the house, or would they prefer a hotel? Hopefully, Uncle Richard, Aunt Josephine, and Timothy would prefer a hotel; he really did not want to have to suffer their staying at the house on top of everything else. Uncle Michael, Aunt Louise, Mic, Laura, and Tommy, though, he’d gladly have at the house. Arrangements would need to be made for Mic, of course, but they would manage it somehow. Uncle Michael would be helpful, where Uncle Richard would only be interfering, and Aunt Louise would be a great help to his mother, where Aunt Josephine would be, well, Aunt Josephine would be Aunt Josephine, and that was all that needed to be said about that. The most he could hope for there was that she didn’t kick up a fuss.

_Pity I have to ask both to stay._

Checking the clock, Edward decided he had put it off as long as he could, sat up, and tried to motivate himself to actually get out of bed. From where he sat, he could see his desk and Bella’s letter still lying there. He hadn’t put it away with the others last night. Just thinking of her and how much better he felt after reading her letter helped him find the strength to start the day. Just knowing she was out there, or would be one day, and was thinking about him made him feel better. 

He sat down at his desk and read her letter again, and again he couldn’t help but smile in spite of his grief. The now familiar handwriting on the unusual paper written by the unusual pen made him feel like he could endure anything. 

He wanted to write to her, but it would have to wait. At least, it would give him something to look forward to. It was too much to hope she’d already written to him, but he couldn’t help hoping she had. As he opened the hidden compartment in the top drawer and saw her letter waiting for him, the feeling of being lost and alone faded completely. He wasn’t alone. He still had his mother and his aunts and uncles and cousins. He still had his friends. He still had a mentor in Dr. Cullen, and he still had his work at the hospital. And he had Bella.

_She’s definitely in a class by herself._

The pain of his father’s sudden death eased a little more as he read the poem she sent him. 

_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_  
_I am not there. I do not sleep._  
_I am in a thousand winds that blow,_  
_I am the softly falling snow._  
_I am the gentle showers of rain,_  
_I am the fields of ripening grain._  
_I am in the morning hush,_  
_I am in the graceful rush_  
_Of beautiful birds in circling flight,_  
_I am the starshine of the night._  
_I am in the flowers that bloom,_  
_I am in a quiet room._  
_I am in the birds that sing,_  
_I am in each lovely thing._  
_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_  
_I am not there. I did not die._

He flipped the page over and read her letter.

 

_Edward,_

_I don’t have much time, I have to leave for school soon. I just had to tell you how very sorry I am about your father. May I ask what happened, or is that inappropriate?_

_Someone gave us a card with this poem on it when my grandmother died. The words aren’t mine, I’m not at all poetic, but I hope they will help._

_Your friend,_

_Bella_

 

Writing to her could not wait, not now. He had to thank her. He wrote just a few lines before getting up and quickly dressing to start the day. 

The smell of coffee brewing reached him on the stairs, and Edward suddenly realized how hungry he was. As he entered the kitchen, he saw that Nellie was just putting muffins into the oven. She had to have been up and about for a while now, but she must have taken such care to keep quiet that he had not heard a sound, not so much as a single floor board creak. 

He paused a moment and berated himself as he remembered two people he should have included in the list of people he still had. _You are some kind of snob, Edward Masen, to have not thought of them sooner after all their help last night._

“Good morning, Nellie. I did not realize you were already awake, I did not hear anyone about.” 

Nellie jumped slightly. “Oh! Oh, Mr. Masen, good morning. You startled me. I did not hear you.” 

_Mr. Masen_... She had called him Mr. Masen. The pain inside Edward sprung forward again. He wasn’t Mr. Edward anymore. He was Mr. Masen now. He swallowed past the lump that had begun to form in his throat and focused on the poem Bella had sent him to beat the pain back. He could let himself feel it later; right now, he had things to do. 

“Nellie, I would like to thank you for your help last night. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” 

Blushing, Nellie looked down as she murmured, “It was no trouble, nothing at all. Anything for you and your dear mother, Sir.” She hurried busily around the kitchen. “Now, then. You just sit yourself down, and let me get you some breakfast. I had hoped the blueberry muffins would be ready before you or your mother were down. I do hope Mrs. Masen will not rise too early. The poor lady needs her rest. I had hoped you would not be down so early yourself.” 

Edward took the cup of steaming hot coffee she offered him with an appreciative sigh and held it, inhaling the aroma, before shaking his head. “There are too many things that need to be done today. Delaying them will only make them harder still.” 

There was a knock at the door as Nellie was beating eggs, and she set the whisk down and wiped her hands on her apron, but Edward had already risen and said he would answer the door himself. Knowing the phone telephone calls he would need to make was making him anxious. Now that he was up, he wanted to get everything over with, and sitting still even for just a few minutes was making him restless. 

He could not imagine who could be calling on them this early in the morning, since no one yet knew of his father’s death, and was surprised to see Dr. Cullen at the door. “Dr. Cullen, please, won’t you come in?” 

Dr. Cullen stepped inside and placed his umbrella in a stand near in the entryway. “Thank you, Edward. I was on my home from the hospital, and I wanted to check on you and your mother.” 

Edward led Dr. Cullen to the parlor and offered him breakfast, which the doctor politely refused explaining, “I am on a different schedule from most people, this is the end of the day for me.” 

“My mother is still asleep. She took a Veronal soon after we returned.” 

“That is good, I am glad to hear it. You should have taken one yourself.” 

“I did not need one.” 

Dr. Cullen leaned forward slightly, and when he spoke his voice was filled with obvious concern and compassion. “Edward, I cannot tell you how very sorry I am for your loss. I will not pretend to know what you are suffering, I cannot imagine. My own father died many years ago, and we were… estranged, for quite some time, to put it mildly. I did not even know of his death until some time afterward. But you cannot neglect yourself. You need to sleep. These next days and weeks will be very difficult for both you and your mother. You need to keep your strength up .” 

Edward was very touched by the doctor’s concern for him and was quick to reassure him. “I was able to sleep without taking anything.” The older man did not look convinced so he continued. “Actually, I had a letter from my friend. In Arizona. I found it when we returned last night. I mentioned her to you.” 

_Only just yesterday morning. Was it really only just yesterday morning? It feels as if it was ages ago._

The doctor looked at him with a very knowing look in his eyes. Edward had never noticed before, but Dr. Cullen had the oddest color eyes. Not brown, they were almost like butterscotch. For a brief moment, Edward felt goosebumps run up his back, and he forgot what he was about to say. 

“Yes, you mentioned your friend to me.” 

_Right, Bella. Bella’s letter._ He was saying he had just received a letter from Bella. But what was he going to say about Bella’s letter? _The poem. Right, the poem._ “She sent me a poem someone had given them when her grandmother passed away. It was... very helpful.” 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Edward realized his mistake, and he could have kicked himself. There was no possible way he could have received a conventional letter including a poem in condolence for his father’s death already. He had been going to mention the sonnet, not the poem. 

“That is a sad coincidence, indeed. I am sorry for the young lady’s loss, but I am glad the poem gave you some peace.” 

Edward felt his shoulders sag slightly with relief. _Thank heaven. He thinks Bella’s grandmother died very recently, and she shared the poem with me in mourning herself, unaware of my own._

Dr. Cullen rose to leave. “I will not take up more of your time this morning. I am sure you have much to do.” 

Thanking him for calling on them, Edward escorted him to the door. After pulling on driving gloves and retrieving his umbrella, Dr. Cullen shook his hand and again offered his condolences and assistance if there was anything he could do for them. 

The day passed in a blur and proved to be every bit as trying as he expected, and when Edward closed his door that night he leaned back against it, his hand still clenching the knob, thankful it was over. 

After Dr. Cullen had left, Edward ate quickly and made his phone calls. His uncles had been exactly what he expected, Uncle Richard was difficult, and Uncle Michael was consoling. Remembering his conversation with his Uncle Richard, Edward could feel his temper rising. It had been only the fact that his mother was asleep that kept him from raising his voice. 

_“We will arrive early Monday afternoon. Michael will come, and we will join him in Philadelphia and arrive together. Louise and the children will, of course, be unable make the trip. The inconvenience to everyone with young Michael will be too great._

_“I will contact your father’s attorney shortly and make an appointment to meet with him that afternoon regarding the will. There is no need to drag things out. He will be viewed on Tuesday and buried on Wednesday.”_

The audacity of the man never ceased to amaze Edward. _If he thinks for one moment he is going to dictate to me what is to be done, he is in for a very rude awakening._ Edward had let his uncle know most decidedly that HE would making the arrangements for his father’s viewing and funeral, and HE would be contacting and meeting with his father’s attorney regarding the will. Closing his eyes and sighing tiredly, Edward leaned his head back against the door. _He never even expressed any sorrow at his brother’s death. I suppose, perhaps, that is better than had he pretended. His insincere condolences would have been intolerable._

Edward already knew the terms of his father’s will, and he knew that both he and his Uncle Michael were the executors. A small smile crept onto his face at the thought, and he looked over at his bookshelf, where he kept Bella’s letters in a large envelope of the sort his father used for his legal papers. _That ought to get Uncle Richard’s dander up._

Thinking about Bella and the poem she had sent him was what had given him the strength and the patience to get through the day. He did not know how many times today he had recited those words to himself. Now, at last, he would be able to write to her and thank her properly, to tell her how much she had come to mean to him. 

Edward moved the books on the shelf and revealed the large envelope. The letters inside were tied together with a green silk ribbon, and he took them all out to reread them before writing to her. As always, he felt an incredible sense of peace wash through him as he read her words. Somehow, in less than one month, she had come to mean more to him than almost anyone, and he resolved to tell her how he felt about her. 

A sudden blush colored his face, and he cleared his throat both in surprise at the strength of his feelings and in embarrassment, as if someone had caught him behaving in an ungentlemanly manner. _Yes, well, how I feel, more or less, at least._

For what seemed like forever, Edward sat staring at a blank piece of paper trying to think of the right words to express himself. He somehow knew, instinctively, just as he had known something was wrong when so long had gone between her letters, that these could well be the most important words he would ever write, and he began and rejected several attempts before he was happy with his letter. 

Edward recognized that he had overstepped what was polite in the detail of his father’s illness he'd gone into, and he apologized to her for it, but striking out his words never occurred to him. Just as reading her letter last night gave him enough peace to sleep, so did writing to her tonight. 

_Some things she wrote do seem odd, though. What did she mean when she said she “got” the movie? Does “got” mean “saw” in her time? And why would she assume Mother persuaded Father to sail on a different ship instead of Titanic?_

He smiled and rubbed his tired eyes as he remembered his parents discussing their trip on the Titanic. His mother’s absolute adamancy that she would not set foot on the ship, and his father’s equally adamant insistence that she was being unreasonable. Of course, given the magnitude of the tragedy, his parents never spoke of the matter again, but if ever a look could say, “What did I tell you?” his mother’s did at the breakfast table the morning following tragedy. 

_I will have a grandson named Michael. Or I already do have. Even a great grandson, perhaps. It is too much to comprehend. ___

_Bella. Beautiful. How perfectly appropriate._

___._  
..ooOoo..  
.  
“Bella, sweetie I wish you would tell me what’s wrong.” 

__Bella was sitting at the kitchen table with her mom and Phil eating dinner. Well, actually she was sitting at the kitchen table with them while they ate dinner. She just twirled her spaghetti on her fork over and over without taking a bite. “I’m fine.”_ _

__All day long, all Bella could think of was what Edward must be going through or what she would do if something ever happened to her dad. She was glad they would be staying in Forks, and she had decided that, if it was alright with him, instead of going somewhere and only seeing him for two weeks this summer, she would stay with him in Forks for a month._ _

__When she began playing with her dinner again, her mother pushed own her plate away, leaned across the table, and took her hand. “Bella, you’re not fine. You don’t eat. You don’t talk. Once this past week, I watched you sit and stare at the same page of a book for an hour. Please, baby, talk to me.”_ _

Knowing she had to come up with something to put her mother off, Bella dropped her fork onto her plate, sighed, and looked down at the table for a few moments to try and stall for time while she tried to think. She remembered something she'd heard once. _The best lie sticks as close to the truth as possible._ She picked her head back up but kept her eyes down. _Don’t look at her._ Don’t _look at her._ “It’s just... it’s just... I heard some kids talking on the bus. One of the girls was crying, and her friends were worried about her. The girl’s father died. I couldn’t really make out what all they said, but I guess it was really sudden.” _Good, good, that’s good._ Sighing again, Bella kept her eyes down and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m just worried about Dad.” 

__Her mother took her hand again and squeezed it tightly. “Oh, Baby. Your dad is just fine. He’s healthy, and he’s careful. Nothing is going to happen to him”_ _

__“I think I’ll just go give him a call. I can heat this up latter.”_ _

__“Sure, Honey. You go. I’ll wrap it up and put it in the fridge for you.”_ _

__Bella felt bad about lying to her mom, but there was no way around it._ _

__She really wanted to see if there was a letter from Edward yet. After the day he must have had, she realized there probably wouldn’t be one yet. It would probably be late before he had time to write, and by then he might be too tired, but she wanted to check to be sure so she could write back as soon as possible. Besides, she reasoned to herself, if she really did call her dad it wouldn’t be a complete lie._ _

__She went straight to their desk to look, but she was right, there was nothing there yet. Although she expected it, she was still disappointed and blew some hair out of her face that had fallen out of her pony tail and into her eyes._ _

__To kill some time before looking again, Bella called her dad and was now waiting for her him to pick up._ _

__“Hey, Bells.”_ _

“How did you know it was me?” 

__He chuckled, “Father’s intuition.”_ _

__“Father’s intuition?”_ _

__“Yup.”_ _

__“Okay, then.”_ _

__“Yup.”_ _

__“So, when did you get so intuitive?”_ _

__He chuckled again, “Right about the time you started calling every other night. I added more minutes to your cell phone plan, by the way.”_ _

Hearing her father's voice sound so happy was making Bella's eyes well up, and she wiped them before the tears could fall. _Edward will never hear his father’s voice again._

__Distracted and trying to force back the tears, Bella missed the rest of what he said. “Sorry, Dad. What did you say?” Her voice sounded all wrong–pinched, strained–and she knew her dad would catch it._ _

__“You okay, Bells?”_ _

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…” _Crap. Think. Think. Think. Think!_ “Just spit out a real sour piece of candy. It was gross.” _Should I be worried about getting better at lying?_

__“You know you don’t like the sour ones. I just asked what you were doing.”_ _

_Oh, nothing much. Just sitting around waiting to hear from my pen pal. Did I mention, he’s 108. How about you? Watching a game?_ Covering her mouth, Bella stifled the laugh that wanted to escape at the thought of her father’s reaction if she told him that. “Nothing much, just, you know, sitting around. How about you?” 

__“Billy’s here. We’re filling out our March Madness brackets.”_ _

__Bella knew her father and Billy were trying to get their friendship back on track after their big blow up, but it was still on very shaky ground. “Billy’s there? That’s good. How’s that going?”_ _

__She heard her father ask Billy if he wanted another one, and she guessed, correctly, that he was making an excuse to leave the room. “It’s going.” That was about as much of an answer as she expected. Her father really was not one to talk about stuff, which was what had made his tirade a few weeks ago all the more worrying._ _

__“So, you're still keeping in touch with Tanya?”_ _

__“Um, yeah. She… ah… she… she calls… or… you know… I call.”_ _

__“Good. That’s great. I’m looking forward to meeting her and the infamous Cullens. Any chance she’ll be around for Easter?”_ _

__“I don’t think you could avoid her if you tried.”_ _

__Her dad was trying not to test his and Billy’s renewed, but still very tentative, friendship and was speaking in a whisper so he wouldn’t be overheard, but Bella was excited and grinning widely. After everything she had heard from her father about them, she was really looking forward to meeting Tanya and her family. Nothing new ever happened in Forks, ever, and for a family of could-be supermodels, who just happened to be rich and the father just happened to be a brilliant surgeon, to move to town was Very Definitely New. Well, it was a year old apparently, but it was new to her. “Great. I can’t wait.”_ _

She heard her father say something to Billy, but couldn’t make it, out and heard him open a can of beer. _Roger, Houston. No more about the Cullens._

__“Um, Dad? I was thinking….”_ _

__Her father’s voice faded a bit, as if he moved the phone away a little. “Oh no. Billy, the girl is thinking again.”_ _

__“Oh, very funny. I was thinking, maybe... I should just come to Forks this summer, too. I can read while you fish.”_ _

__Her father let out an exasperated sigh. “What’s this really about Bells? You’ve never liked Forks, now you can’t get enough of it.”_ _

__“Yeah, well… Forks never had a resident family of ostracized supermodels before. You did say one of the brothers was free, didn’t you?”_ _

__Her father didn’t say anything after that, but that didn’t surprise her. She needed to get away from the subject of why she wanted to stay in Forks, and all teenage girls knew that nothing would throw their father off his train of thought faster than the dreaded “B word”. “Besides, I thought maybe I’d stay a little longer, if that’s okay, I mean. Give mom and Phil a little time alone. Would a month be okay?”_ _

__There was silence on the other end of the line. She wasn’t worried about mentioning her mom and Phil anymore, not since Tanya came into the picture, but she was getting nervous as the silence dragged on. Chewing anxiously on her lip, Bella asked, “Dad? You still there? You didn’t get hit by a falling meteor, did you?”_ _

__Her dad was whispering again, but this time it had nothing to do with trying to not be overheard. “You, you want to come here, to Forks... to stay with me... for a month?”_ _

She recognized the way his voice sounded, incredulous, disbelieving, and Bella berated herself. _I’m a terrible daughter._ “Yeah, if that’s OK?” 

__Once again, her words were met with several seconds of silence before her father spoke. “Of course, it’s okay, Bells.”_ _

__“Great. Great, then We can talk about it when I come up.”_ _

__“Yeah. When you, when you... come up. That’ll, that’ll be good.... That’ll be... great.”_ _

__“Okay, then. Great. I, um, I better get going, Dad... I have, um, homework, and... stuff.”_ _

__“Yeah, I, I should go too. I gotta drive Billy back to the rez.”_ _

__“Okay. Good night, then. Tell Billy good night, too.”_ _

__“Will do.”_ _

__“I love you, Dad.”_ _

__There was another short silence before her dad answered quietly, “You too, Bells.”_ _

__Just as she was about to hang up, Bella remembered something she wanted to ask him. “Oh, hey, Dad, wait a sec, you still there?”_ _

__She was afraid he’d already hung up, but he answered, “Yeah, I’m here.”_ _

__“What’s a backwards ‘K’?”_ _

__“What?” Her father sounded like that was the last thing he ever expected her to ask._ _

__“A backwards ‘K’, in baseball. What’s it mean?”_ _

__“You’re asking me about baseball?” It was clear he was completely shocked._ _

__“Yeah. What’s a backwards ‘K’?”_ _

__“Who are you?”_ _

__Rolling her eyes, Bella smiled. “You should try stand up, really.”_ _

__“You’re asking me about baseball?” her father asked again._ _

__“Yes, I’m asking you about baseball, or at least I’m trying to. You know baseball? A bunch of guys standing around waiting and then running and trying to chase down a little white ball some other guy just hit with a big stick.”_ _

“A _bat._ ” 

“What?” 

“It’s a _bat._ It’s not a _stick._ It’s a _bat_.” 

__Her father was laughing so hard he was wheezing, and Bella thought she might've heard Billy laughing too. She couldn’t help but laugh, too. Her father was teasing her. Sometimes, it seemed like they couldn’t think of anything to say to each other, but now he was teasing her. When she was little, Bella remembered, her father would pick her up and swing her around. And tickle her.... She remember now how he used to tickle her when she was little, till she could barely breath and begged him to stop, only to beg him to do it again as soon as she caught her breath. Once she started to grow up though, it seemed like they couldn’t relate to each other. Teasing was good. Teasing was definitely good._ _

__“Yes, thank you. I realize that. What I still don’t know, is what is a backwards ‘K’.”_ _

__“A ‘K’ is a strike out. If the ‘K’ is written backwards, it means the third strike is a called strike.”_ _

__“That’s when it’s over the plate thing, right?”_ _

“The... _plate... thing_?” 

__“You know what I mean.”_ _

“Yes, a called strike is when the ball is over _the plate thing_.” Through her father's laughter, the way he said those last three words almost sounded as if it was painful to him, and it sounded muffled, like he was talking into his hand. “Why the sudden interest in baseball?” 

_I may just have a little crush on a baseball player._ “Oh, um, no reason. Gotta go, Dad. Good night.” 

__“Yeah, uh huh, ‘cuz I was just born yesterday, you know. Good night, Bells.”_ _

Walking back over to their desk after hanging up, Bella felt much better after laughing with her dad. She laid her head down on the leather and sat quietly for a moment, thinking about the two most important men in her life, before picking her head up and looking at her phone for the time. _If there’s nothing there yet, I can take a shower and read for a while and then look again._ This time, Edward's letter was there waiting for her, and as she read she went from feeling like her heart would burst to feeling like it would break and back again. 

__

_July 13, 1918_

__

__

_My Dear Bella,_

_If there is one thing I have learned as the result of my father’s sudden death, it is that not one single day, not one single moment can be taken for granted. We waste entirely too much time trying to impress and appease those who do not truly matter, while neglecting those who do. My dearest Bella, my dearest friend, please allow me to tell you how very much I value and treasure our friendship. In these past weeks, you have come to mean more to me than I can begin to explain. I do not know by what miracle our friendship has been made possible, but I will never cease to thank Heaven for it, and for you._

_My mother and I were volunteering at the hospital Friday morning and were just about to leave when my father’s secretary telephoned to say that he had taken ill and was being driven home. Our family doctor came to the house and diagnosed him with a very bad case of influenza. Although he felt my father would certainly recover in a few days' time, he wanted him taken to the hospital in an effort to prevent pneumonia. Everything possible was done, but the pneumonia developed rapidly, and nothing the doctors tried helped. A doctor friend of ours said my father’s was the most vicious case he had ever seen, and he stayed with us during the night as much as possible._

_I cannot help but feel I should have noticed something that morning at breakfast. There had to have been some symptom, some indication that something was wrong, something that I missed. Perhaps if I had noticed, help could have been gotten sooner._

____

____

_I am trying to take some comfort in the fact that, mercifully, he did not suffer long, and that, at least in that respect, the doctors were not powerless. It was unlike anything I have ever seen before or ever wish to see again. He suffered such coughing fits; I believe I will hear that sound in my nightmares so long as I live. His fever rose higher and more swiftly than I would have believed possible, and he had unusual brown bruise-like patches on his cheeks. He was given Morphine and passed most of his illness in a deep sleep as a result._

_Nowadays modern medicine is making such strides, such wondrous advances and discoveries are being made, it is still difficult to accept that there was nothing that could be done. But I know there was nothing that could be done. He was a perfectly healthy, strong man on Friday morning, and in less than 24 hours he was gone._

_I am sorry to burden you with such terrible detail, dearest Bella. Please forgive me for my thoughtlessness. I am still trying to wrap my head around what has happened. These past days have been the worst of my life, and the coming days will not be much better. Please know that your friendship, and thinking of you and the poem you sent, has been the greatest comfort to me._

_Last year, the mother of two close friends of mine died not long after suffering a stroke. Shortly afterward, my father called me into his study and went over all of his important papers with me. He said that whenever anything of that kind happened to him, he wanted to be assured I would know what needed to be done. I do not believe I was ever more uncomfortable in my life, but now I am exceedingly grateful for his foresight. In addition to bank records and insurance papers, he showed me his will._

_My father had two brothers, Richard and Michael, who live in Philadelphia and New York City. My uncles will arrive here with their families early Monday afternoon._

_My father and his older brother, my Uncle Richard, have never been close. For as long as I can remember, they have always had a very strained relationship at best. I understand there was a period when they did not speak for a number of years after a particularly bad disagreement, but I do not know what they argued over. Despite this, he assumes that, as the oldest brother, he is the executor of my father’s will. Uncle Richard is very domineering, to put it politely. To put it more honestly, he is a boorish, selfish, bossy, snob, and his wife and son are no better. I hope you will not think too poorly of me for speaking so, but I assure you it is true. Uncle Richard’s first words after learning of his brother’s death were little more than orders for the arrangements to be made according to his wishes without so much as a passing thought to what my father may have wanted. He expressed no remorse or sympathy of any kind. I was very insulted on my father’s behalf initially, but now I cannot help but feel that his false sympathy would have been infinitely worse. If I have not already shocked you with my unkind words regarding my own kin, I hope you will forgive me once again for admitting that I almost look forward to seeing the expression on his face when he learns that my Uncle Michael and I are my father’s executors. He will not be pleased, to say the very least._

_The poem you sent me reminds me strongly of what he said to me that day. He said that when his time came, he would be beyond anything that anyone on this Earth could do for him, and for no one to waste their time sitting up with an empty shell of a body. He said the greatest thing I could do for him would be to take care of my mother._

_Bella, I am trying to do that, but I do not know how. My mother took a tablet to help her sleep once we returned home and fortunately did not rise until very late in the morning. While she slept, I telephoned my uncles and some close friends. Once she was awake, a tray of food was sent up to her, and I sat with her while she ate and stayed with her until she felt ready to come downstairs. Fortunately, my mother’s brothers and sisters do not live far, and we have many good friends. By early evening we had received several visitors offering their sympathy and assistance, so many so that our parlor resembles a florist shop and our ice box could not possibly hold one more thing. Her sisters stayed with her most of the day. My other aunt, my mother’s sister-in-law, stayed only a short while before leaving to purchase mourning clothes for her. My mother is the strongest person I know, but I am very worried about her. I do not know what to do. I spent most of the day watching her, and her movements all seemed forced, and her normally sparkling, green eyes are dull and lifeless. When she spoke, her voice did not sound like her at all. It sounded hollow, that is the only word I can think to describe it. When she looks at you, it is as if she is looking through you, as if she does not see you at all. I have never known any two people as well matched as my parents. They were deeply in love, truly two halves of one whole. I am very worried for her. As strong as she is, I fear this pain may be more than she can bear. I only wish I knew how to help her._

_Finding your letter early this morning was a great relief. I missed you terribly, and I found your letter exactly when I needed you most. I was growing very worried that something had happened to you. I do not like the idea of two ladies living alone in such a large city. Please, promise me you will be careful. I do understand and appreciate your concern about, what were your words? “screw up” my life. I have often thought these past few weeks of how very odd it is to write to someone who has not yet been born, but I never considered what it must be like for you, to write to someone who is, by your time, already dead. I must say, it is an unsettling thought._

_The Time Machine was quite a short story, really, so I am not surprised they would add to it to turn it into a feature movie. The plot they added sounds very interesting, and I would imagine Wells would be pleased his great-grandson had a hand in it. May I ask, though, what you meant when you said you “got” the movie? How can you “get” a movie?_

_I have wondered who it was who gave you our desk. It seems inconceivable that you have actually met my grandson. I am very happy my cousin’s name continues in the family. I do not know if it is proper to ask, but I must. What is he like? Is he happy? Does he have a family of his own? Does he have brothers or sisters? Aunts or uncles? Is he a friend of your family’s? How did you meet him? Why did he give you our desk? Did you meet my son as well?_

_Yes, we were really going to sail on the Titanic. My mother never did persuade my father against it. Why did you assume she had?_

_To answer your question, a “K” is a strike out. It is taken from the word “struck”, as K is the last letter. I do not know why it would be written backwards, though. We do not do that. It must come about later. I will make strike outs today’s lesson. When a pitcher pitches the ball, it is always either a strike or a ball. If a batter gets three strikes, he is out. For a pitch to be a strike either, 1. The batter must swing and miss, 2. Swing and hit a foul ball, or 3. Not swing at a ball that is both over the plate and between his knees and the letters on his jersey, what is called “the strike zone“. That is a “called strike” as opposed to a “swinging strike”. The plate is home plate. It has five sides and looks basically like a square with a triangle attached on one side. I suppose it is called home plate, because it looks something like a house, although I never thought about that. There are white lines down the sides of the field leading from home plate, past first base on the right and third base on the left, all the way to the wall. A foul ball is when the batted ball lands outside those lines. If it lands inside the lines, it is in play. There are some exceptions to these rules. A foul ball is only a strike for the first or second strike, not the third, unless the batter is bunting instead of swinging. In this case, the strike only counts for the pitchers statistics, not for the out. Additionally, the catcher must catch the ball. If for some reason he cannot, the batter can run for first base. If he is either tagged or thrown out, he is out. If he reaches base safely he is safe. The strike out counts for both the pitcher’s and batter’s statistics but not for the out. Of course, these are the rules today, 91 years is a long time, there is always a chance that they are changed at some point. Your backwards K, for example. If a pitch is not swung at and is either wide or inside, meaning not over home plate, or too high or too low, it is called a ball. If a batter gets four balls, it is called a “walk” and he is awarded first base._

_I am indescribably happy that you were thinking about me when you suggested reading Shakespeare’s Sonnet at your mother’s wedding. It is a beautiful verse, and I confess where it once made me think of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth, it now makes me think only of you._

_Once again, I cannot tell you how reading your words has helped me. Your letter was like a life preserver to a drowning man. A little piece of normal in a world turned upside down. Please, write to me again soon. Please tell me what is happening in your life. Tell me something happy. I need to remember that there is happiness in the world. I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? What did you think? Drop me a review and let me know.
> 
> For those who don't know what March Madness is, it is a single-elimination college basketball championship tournament held in the United States every spring. It's a pretty big thing. People fill out brackets with who they think is going to beat who and who is going with win it all. 
> 
> Remember, at this point neither Edward nor Bella have any idea there is an epidemic just around the corner. They have no reason not to believe Edward has a long (human) life in front of him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my PTB betas, Thir13enth, 4mejasper, and SecretlySeverus!
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters. It is almost entirely from Edward's point of view, and I think it demonstrates the similarities between the human and the vampire. Edward had a temper and was entirely too hard on himself as a human, too. I had “the incident” scene mostly outlined in my head, and I knew how I wanted the chapter end, and this chapter really practically wrote itself around those two things in one afternoon. I tried to inject a little humor to break the angst up a bit, so I hope this time I will make you laugh once or twice. But don't let “the incident” distract you. This one of the most important chapters because of what happens at the end of it. The rest of the story couldn't happen without it. 
> 
> This chapter is also important because Bella's quoting Rose from Titanic will come up again in a very key scene much later.
> 
> Instead of being asked questions, this time I'm asking you all a question. Edward and his family were to have sailed on the Titanic. His mother was dead set against it and tried everything she could to convince Edward, Sr. to change their plans, but never did get him to agree. So then... why didn't they? Bella can't understand why they didn't sail on Titanic if that was what they planned and Elizabeth never persuaded Edward, Sr. to change those plans, and Edward can't understand why she doesn't understand. Can you figure it out?  
>   
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> The song Bella sends Edward is, of course, “My Heart Will Go On” from Celine Dion.

_Who the hell does his uncle think he is!?_ Bella was pacing angrily back and forth across her room, absolutely furious at Edward’s uncle for making this already difficult time even harder for him. You tell him, Edward. The more times she read his words, the more proud she was of him for standing up to the man. 

But, he shouldn’t have had to. 

As angry as reading about his uncle made her, and as much as her heart broke for him and his mother when she read about the horrible way his father died, other things he wrote made Bella feel like she could dance on air. Before starting to write to Edward, she had never cried and laughed at the same time. No one had ever made her feel so much at one time before. 

She hadn’t even known she _could_ feel so many different things at one time. 

Sitting on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed, Bella held Edward's letter against her heart with a small, sad smile on her face. Even though they could never truly be a part of each other’s worlds, he was more real to her, more alive to her, than anyone else she’d ever known. Just holding the same pages he held less than an hour ago, running her fingers over the words he wrote to her nearly 91 years ago, she felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Whether he had really written to her less than an hour ago or nearly 91 years ago, it didn’t matter. He was part of her. He was a part of her she hadn’t even known was missing but was so essential, so vital, that even time couldn't keep him from finding her. 

Bella felt like she was holding his very soul in her hands instead of just his letter.

Standing up and walking over to the window, Bella looked out and smiled up at the starry sky before leaning back against the wall and reading his letter again and again, already beginning her letter back to him in her head.

XOXOXO  


_Dear Edward,_

_Tell your uncle to stick a sock in it. Seriously, Edward, don’t let him push you around. He has absolutely no right to tell you what to do._

_Please, don’t blame yourself for what happened. I’m sure there was nothing you could have done. If there were any signs to be noticed, I’m sure you would have. You need to remember what your father told you, take care of your mother. I cannot even imagine how horrible this must be for both of you._

_I do have some happy news for you. Your White Sox won yesterday. They beat the Dodgers 9 - 4. It’s only spring training, but still, a win is a win, right? Actually, they only play about nine or ten miles away, in Glendale, for their spring training. They share the field with the Dodgers. Also, they won their division last year, and they swept the Houston Astros and won the World Series four years ago. I Googled that part._

_I’m afraid there really isn’t much to tell about my life. I really don’t do very much. I have to go with my mother this weekend to find a dress for her wedding in November. I am not looking forward to it. The dress shopping, I mean, not the wedding. My mother and I have very different ideas on what I should wear. She wants something long, I just want something I’m not going to trip over._

_I spoke to my father a little while ago and asked him about the backwards K. It means the third strike was a called strike. I’m going to go visit him in Washington for Easter._

_I’m sorry I don’t know anything about your grandson, Michael, but I do remember he said he has a brother and sister, and he did seem happy. They were selling some things they no longer wanted before going back to Chicago. The desk was not for sale. We talked for a while, and he said that although the desk wasn't for sale, he wanted to give it to me. He said it came into the family as a gift and it seemed fitting for it to leave the family as a gift. It was much too much to give to someone he’d only just met, and my mother and I tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t let us. He said the strangest thing. He said the desk had always belonged to me, that they were just holding on to it until I could come for it. He told me about the hidden compartment, but he didn‘t tell me where it was. It took hours, and I went half-crazy looking for it, but I found it. Obviously. I couldn’t believe it when I found your letter to your cousin. I thought someone had put it there for some reason and forgotten about it. I knew I should try to find your grandson and give it back to him, but I couldn’t imagine giving it up._

_When I said I got The Time Traveler movie, I meant just that. It’s sit down time again, Edward. My world really is very, very different from yours. I told you about computers already. We also have things called televisions. The easiest way to describe them is that they are boxes that show pictures. Like a movie screen in a box in your living room. Similar to how telephones let you talk to people far away, televisions let you watch movies and shows._

_We can buy or rent copies of movies to watch at home on a television. They’ve made several movies about the Titanic. The most recent one is one of my favorite movies. I must have seen it dozens of times. It was made about 10 years ago. The song I’m sending you is from the movie. It’s a love story between two fictional characters who come from very different backgrounds and meet on board. The girl is from an old, rich family, but the money is gone now, and she is engaged to an absolutely horrible man, who she does not want to marry but has to or she and her mother will lose what little they have left and be left with nothing. The boy is poor and wins his 3rd class ticket in a poker match minutes before the ship sails. The girl, Rose, becomes so distraught she attempts to kill herself by jumping overboard, but he sees her in time and stops her, telling her, “You jump, I jump.”_

_It’s a long story, but basically they sneak around to see each other and fall in love. She tells him she will leave with him when the ship arrives in New York, but of course, the ship never arrives in New York. She has the chance to leave the ship on a lifeboat, but refuses to leave without him. She is actually on a life boat with her mother and jumps back to the ship. He is standing at the rail next to her fiancé on the deck above and sees her jump back on board. He runs down and finds her, and she tells him the same thing he told her earlier, “You jump, I jump.”_

_They both go down with the ship but survive the initial sinking. They find each other again among the hundreds in the water and find a floating piece of wood paneling. They can’t both get on it, so Jack puts Rose on it, and he stays in the water, holding onto her hands. He tells her she is not going to die like this, that she is going to die an old woman, warm in her bed._

_By the time the life boat comes back to look for survivors, he’s already dead from hypothermia, but she’s still alive because she was out of the water. She is rescued and survives. Her fiancé survived the sinking and looks for her on the Carpathia, but she hides her face from him as he walks past her. When she is asked her name on the Carpathia, she takes Jack’s name as her own, and her mother and fiancé are left believing she died._

_She goes on to have an amazing life, marries, and has a family and grandchildren. She lives to be 102 and dies exactly as Jack said she would, an old woman, warm in her bed, and is then shown young and beautiful again, reunited with Jack and surrounded by everyone else who died that night._

_I still can't believe you were supposed to have sailed on the Titanic. If your mother didn’t get your father to change his mind, why didn’t you? Whatever it was that stopped you, it was a miracle._

_I feel so completely helpless. I’m so sorry about your father, and I’m glad you said my poem helped, but it’s not enough. I wish more than anything that I could be there with you, to just hold your hand. And don’t ever think anything you could ever say could be a burden to me. You’re my friend. You could never be a burden, don’t even think it. I wish I could tell you just how much you mean to me, but I don’t have your way with words. Just please know that having this chance to know you, to be your friend, is the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me._

_Your Friend,_

_Bella_

_What in heaven’s name does “Googled” mean? What an odd word. And what does tell my uncle “to stick a sock in it” mean?_

Edward sat in the parlor reading Bella’s letter for what he thought might be the fiftieth time since yesterday morning. He needed the strength he drew from her to help him endure his Uncle Richard’s arrival. His uncles and their families would be arriving at the station in a little over an hour, and squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, Edward groaned at the thought of his Uncle Richard’s arrival. 

Currently, he was waiting for his Uncle George and Uncle Charles, his mother’s brothers, to arrive. Despite their dislike of his Uncle Richard–or perhaps, he suspected, owing to it–Uncle George and Uncle Charles had insisted upon accompanying him to the station to meet the train. There were eight people between the two arriving families, and they would need their three cars to accommodate them all, plus their luggage and Mic’s wheelchair. Edward had suggested hiring two taxis to meet him at the train station, but his uncles would not hear of it. 

Both families would be staying at the house. Uncle Richard had taken it as a matter of course that they—they meaning _his family_ —would stay at the house and had been incredulous at the mere mention of a hotel. Edward rolled his eyes. _Uncle Richard takes a lot of things as a matter of course._  


Uncle Michael had offered to do whichever would be the most convenient or the most helpful, and in the end, it was decided they would stay as well. Edward was grateful to them as he knew that with Mic’s disability, a hotel, with elevators and a suite of rooms all on one floor, would certainly be more convenient for them. He would admit it to no one other than Bella, but he honestly did not know if he could stand having Uncle Richard, Aunt Josephine, and Timothy without them.

There was plenty of room in the house, but eight guests would obviously mean considerably more work for Maggie and Nellie. Accordingly, additional help had been arranged for during the day, and Nellie’s youngest sister, Catherine, who was nearly of an age to enter service herself, would stay and share her sister’s room for the duration of their visit. 

Edward looked back down at the letter in his hands and smiled at what Bella had written. _For someone who says she doesn’t have a way with words, what she writes can make the world seem to stop spinning._ The first time he'd read what she had said about him, that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, he'd thought his heart might just beat it’s way right out of his chest and his face might split in two, his smile was so wide. 

Just as Edward was reading once again about the Sox winning the World Series again last year—or ninety years from now, whichever—his uncles arrived. He stood up to great them and tucked her letter into his inside jacket pocket. _You are coming with me, Bella. I cannot do this without you._ He shook his uncles' hands and thanked them for coming. 

Aunt Sarah, his mother's sister, had come with them to stay with his mother while they were gone, and together she and Edward went up to his mother’s room, where his mother had spent most of her time since his father’s death. He knocked softly on her door and with her hollow, quiet voice, he almost missed her telling them to come in. Elizabeth was sitting in her chair looking out the window at the late morning sun, her uneaten breakfast still on the small table in front of her. She did not turn her head when they entered the room. Although expected by now, it was still a shock to see his proud, strong mother so utterly broken. If Edward had thought she’d aged twenty years the night they lost his father, she’d aged another ten in the days since. 

Kneeling next to her, Edward took her hand. “Mother, Aunt Sarah is here. Uncle George and Uncle Charles are downstairs. We are leaving for the station soon. Won’t you come down and greet them?” 

Elizabeth slowly turned her head toward her son but did not meet his eyes. “Sarah?” 

Her sister rushed forward and took her other hand. “I’m here, Lizzie, dearest. I’m here.”  


Edward was encouraged to feel a slight squeeze from his mother’s hand as she turned away to look back out the window. It was just a slight pressure, but it was a response, a sign, hopefully, that his mother was returning to him.

As he looked at his aunt, who was watching her sister with tears shining in her eyes, she glanced at him and nodded her head slightly, the tears spilling over. She had felt it, too. 

His mother spoke in the same hollow, detached voice he had come to expect these past few days. “It is a lovely morning. The sun is out. Edward did love sunny days. Good day for a ballgame, he would have said, would he not have?” 

Nearly overcome with emotion, Edward was not immediately able to answer her. That was more than his mother had said at one time since before this nightmare began. And she had said his father’s name, something she had not done since they left the hospital. “Yes, Mother. That is exactly what he would have said, and the Sox won on Saturday. He would be happy. They shut out Boston, five, nothing.” 

His mother drew a deep, shaky breath. “It has been… such a… dreary, gray summer. I do so dislike the color gray, so cold and drab. Today is lovely, though. The sky is a beautiful, bright blue, and the birds have been singing to me all morning long.” 

Edward was reminded once again of the poem Bella sent him. _“I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing.”_ He leaned in and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Mother, I must go. The train will arrive soon.” 

Pleased to feel her lean toward him slightly, Edward gently wrapped his arm around her. She turned away from the window again and spoke to him, “Of course, dearest. Do remember to thank your uncles.” He stood and walked to the door, but paused as his mother spoke again. She met his eyes this time. Her shoulders were a bit straighter, her voice just a bit stronger. “And Edward, do not let Richard upset you. He thinks entirely too highly of himself and poorly of everyone else. He always has done. Do not allow him to talk down to you or intimidate you. You are your father’s son, and it was you he entrusted to see to everything, not Richard. Do not forget that.” 

In response to his mother's words, Edward felt himself stand a little straighter, a little taller, prouder, and promised both his mother and himself that he would not forget. 

As he left the room, Edward could hear his aunt speaking to his mother. “Lizzie, dearest, let’s get you downstairs. Why do we not sit on the back porch and listen to the birds there?” Knowing that his mother was in good hands, and that Bella was with him if only through her letter, Edward felt equal to dealing with his Uncle Richard.

Half an hour later, Edward was seated on the platform between his uncles as he heard the train whistle in the distance. His mother’s words were ringing like bells in his head, and with the feel of Bella’s letter against his chest over his heart, he rose to greet his uncles and their families. 

Unsurprisingly, Uncle Richard was the first one to descend, followed closely by Aunt Josephine and Timothy. Edward stepped forward and shook his uncle’s hand. “Uncle Richard, Aunt Josephine, Timothy. How was your journey?” His aunt and cousin did not answer at all, and his uncle—clearly in a foul temper already—barely grumbled an answer, but Edward was certain he heard the words “intolerable… no consideration… great inconvenience.” 

Edward gritted his teeth together and turned away from his Uncle Richard; relief engulfed him as he saw his Aunt Louise being helped from the train by his Uncle Charles. As soon as she set foot on the platform, she embraced him warmly. “Oh, Edward. Darling, I am so terribly, terribly sorry. Your poor father, such a tragic loss. How is your poor mother?” 

Aunt Louise and his mother had always gotten on exceedingly well. They were as close as true sisters, and he knew they had missed each other terribly in the years since his uncle’s job had taken them to New York City. When Mic’s illness struck two years ago, his mother had dropped everything and gone straight to New York, marching straight past quarantine placards and posters plastered on nearly every vertical surface. 

“I believe she may be somewhat better today. She did not touch her breakfast, but she spoke more.” 

“Oh, that is good news indeed, but we must see that she eats properly. Still, one thing at a time.” 

A voice Edward would know anywhere sounded behind him, a drawling voice with an exaggerated New York accent and a playful, mock-teasing quality that could only belong to one person. “Yes, yes. It is very good news, and we are glad to hear it. Now will you kindly move your scrawny self, Eddie? You are blocking the way.” A weight of a hundred pounds lifted from Edward's shoulders at the sound of his cousin’s voice. After assisting his wife down the stairs to the platform, Uncle Michael had returned to the train car and was standing on the bottom step with his back to him, holding the front of Mic’s wheelchair. His younger cousins, Tommy and Laura, were behind him, with Tommy holding the back of his brother’s chair and helping his father carefully guide his brother down the narrow stairs. Although Tommy was only thirteen, he was tall like Edward but with a heavier, broader build. 

“Mic, I am so glad to see you.” 

“Yes, yes, I know. I am beautiful. However, you are still in the way.” 

Edward shook his head and was unable to stop himself from smiling in gratitude at his cousin as he stepped back, out of the way. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how very much he was looking forward to seeing him. 

Along with his mother's family, his friends had all been to the house with their parents, but they treated him as if he was suddenly made of glass, as if afraid he would shatter into a million pieces if they dared to speak too loudly. Mic, Edward knew, could be counted on to treat him normally. Mic was simply so thankful to have survived the polio epidemic that took the use of his legs when so many others did not, that no matter what else bad happened, it was impossible to fully dampen his spirit for very long. 

Aunt Louise shook her head indulgently at them, “Now, boys, behave yourselves.” 

Once Tommy stepped off the train, Edward took Laura’s hand and helped her down. “Laura, you look as lovely as ever. I do hope those two have not been bothering you.” 

“Those two? They wouldn’t dare.” She arched her eye brow at him, giving him a mischievous smile that looked totally out of place on her angelic face, and leaned closer, whispering so only he could hear her. “I learned from the master.” Once she stepped onto the platform, she took both of his hands in hers. “How are you, Edward? Oh, what you must have been through! I am so very sorry.”

Squeezing her hands softly, he answered, “I am better now that you all are here,” and leaning down to kiss her cheek, he whispered back to her, “The salt in the sugar dish at the Stinson's tea, that was you then?” 

Laura did not answer him, merely gave him her most innocent smile and arched her eyebrow again. Edward smiled down at the partner in crime he never knew he had and offered her his arm as they walked over to join the others. 

Porters were by now bringing their luggage over on trolleys, and his Uncle Richard said to him irritably, “As Edward has finally seen fit to join us, we must be off.” 

Uncle George and Uncle Charles led everyone to the cars. Uncle Richard walked a considerable distance away from them, as if he did not wish to be known to be in their company, with Aunt Josephine on his arm. Uncle Michael and Aunt Louise walked between them with Tommy pushing his brother’s chair, and Timothy skulked miserably several steps behind his parents. 

Edward leaned down to Laura and whispered again, nodding his head toward Timothy. “What did you do to him?” 

She whispered back innocently, “Who? Me? I did nothing. He’s been like that since they boarded the train.” Before continuing, Laura looked around to make sure there was enough distance between themselves and the others. “Mic is very disappointed. He wanted to run over his toes, but Timothy rarely ever rose from his seat. I believe there was some… ahem, _trouble_ … at the bank.” 

Edward patted her hand and bowed his head to hide his smile. _I can almost feel sorry for him. Not entirely trustworthy, not particularly bright, and large amounts of money. Those things cannot mix well._ “Shall I have Maggie lock up the silver, do you think?” 

“Best to be safe.” 

Once the party arrived at the cars, Uncle Richard directed the porters to load the luggage in Edward's Uncle Charles’ car, and as he walked passed them, Edward distinctly caught the grumbled words “Drives a _Model T_ , I see,” and felt himself bristle at the implied insult to his uncle. Laura squeezed his arm, and he forced himself to relax. 

Uncle Richard continued to direct everyone as if they were his employees at the bank. “Thomas will have to ride with the luggage. Edward, give me the keys. We cannot dally about all day.” 

Edward felt Laura’s grip tighten further on his arm at their uncle’s intended slight to him, but he remembered his mother’s words and Bella’s letter in his pocket and patted her hand again in silent thanks for the support, and stepping up to his father’s car, he opened both passenger side doors before walking around confidently to get behind the wheel himself. “Let us be off, then.” Edward's hands gripped the wheel tightly, possessively. This car had been his father's pride and joy, and he'd be damned before he let Uncle Richard drive it.

His uncle continued to grumble to himself as he got into the car, and this time Edward caught the word “impertinence.” He had to bite his tongue to stop the laugh that wanted to escape as he thought to himself, _If you do not allow yourself to be insulted by him, he is really quite amusing._

Aunt Sarah had succeeded in getting her sister downstairs, and as soon as they pulled up to the house his mother rushed out to greet Michael and Louise, thanking them tearfully for coming, before turning to Richard and Josephine and thanking them as well. 

Uncle Richard and Aunt Josephine did not seem pleased to be noticed second, but Edward really could not have cared less. 

Once he and Tommy had helped Mic back into his chair and into the house, they helped his Uncle George and Uncle Charles with the rest of the bags while Timothy stood around looking very put out and not speaking to anyone. 

Lunch was soon served, but Uncle George and Uncle Charles did not stay, and after making both him and his mother promise to call for them at once if they were at all needed, they took their leave. Edward suspected they had already had quite enough of his Uncle Richard, and he was secretly envious they were able to escape him. 

All around the table, people took their seats, with Uncle Richard taking his late brother’s seat at the head of the table with a childishly spiteful glare in Edward's direction as he pushed his mother's chair in. 

Edward found that seeing his uncle sitting so smugly in his father's seat had not only made him lose his appetite completely, but he was finding it was an effort to keep his breakfast down. 

With his mother situated in her seat at the other end of the table, Uncle Michael, Aunt Louise, and Aunt Sarah took the seats closest to her. At the other end of the table, Edward sat at his uncle’s side across from Aunt Josephine. Laura sat next to him, and Tommy pushed Mic’s chair up to the table between their sister and mother before taking his seat across from his mother. 

Lunch was served and eaten quietly. 

After only a short period of time, Uncle Richard seemed to have decided that everyone was finished eating—whether the others had decided they were done did not appear to matter—and he pushed his plate away, rose, cleared his throat, and spoke as if he was addressing a board meeting. “I wish to review Edward’s papers now, before my meeting with his attorney. Michael, you will join me.”

Across the length of their dining table, Edward met his mother’s eyes, and at the slight nod of her head, he calmly swallowed his food and set down his fork before wiping his mouth with his napkin and addressing his uncle. “Uncle Richard, I believe I made myself perfectly clear on the telephone. Was there a point you did not understand?” 

His uncle looked down at him and spoke to him as if he was a small, disobedient child and not a nearly grown man. “Do not be obstinate, Edward.” 

Edward felt himself growing angry, but thoughts of Bella’s letter in his pocket helped him to control himself. “I am not being obstinate, Uncle Richard. I am merely reminding you that my father chose me to handle his affairs. My meeting with my father’s attorney is in two hours. You are more than welcome to join me, but make no mistake, it is my meeting, and you are there only at my invitation and only to observe.” 

The room was deadly quiet except for the sounds of his mother eating her lunch at the far end of the table. If Edward had felt any nervousness at standing up to his uncle, his sudden realization that his mother was eating erased them entirely. 

His Uncle Richard was looking down at him still, but in a different way. He was clearly sizing him up. “Do not be a fool, Edward. You are a child. You cannot possibly expect to be allowed to handle your father’s estate.” 

Bella's words began echoing through his mind. So sure was Edward that he could actually hear her words softly whispered in his ear—as if Bella herself was standing beside him, a physical, solid presence in the room that only he was aware of—that he swore to himself he could not only hear her words but feel her gentle, warm breath drift across his skin, and goosebumps covered his arms. _"Don't let him push you around. He has absolutely no right to tell you what to do."_ Edward could almost feel her hand slide into his, her fingers twisting with his, so strong was the feeling that she was there with him.

Overcome by the strength of the sensation, Edward looked back down the table briefly before speaking again, both in order to give himself a moment to choose his words and to catch his breath. His mother was continuing to eat, and he noted the lines around her eyes appeared less pronounced. But it was his Uncle Michael's eyes he met and his head that nodded to him this time. 

"I am well aware of my age, Uncle Richard, as was my father. He planned for the possibility of my still being underage when he passed by naming Uncle Michael as my co-executor if that was the case."

Fuming, Uncle Richard glared between his nephew and brother. A vein had begun to pulse in his temple, and his eyes were bulging. So angry was he that he was barely able to speak and only managed to sputter at his brother. “You… You were aware of this?” 

Uncle Michael replied, “Yes, I was. Edward telephoned last year and requested I assist my nephew in any way I could, if it became necessary. Of course, I agreed. He made it perfectly clear that, as his heir, Edward was to be in charge, but if that was not possible due to his age, he wished for me to act on my nephew’s behalf in any way necessary.” 

Uncle Richard picked his napkin up, wiped his forehead, and threw it back on the table. “And why, may I ask, was I not informed of this... this arrangement?” 

Calmly looking his brother straight in the eye, Uncle Michael responded, “Because, Richard, it was none of your business.” 

Edward thought that if it was possible for a man’s head to explode off of his body, his Uncle Richard’s just might. 

“None of my business!? May I remind you, I am the eldest brother, and as such, I am the head of this family.” 

Immediately and angrily, Uncle Michael and Edward both rose to their feet. 

“You are the head of your own family only, Richard, not mine, and it seems you cannot even manage that properly.” 

“You are no such thing, Uncle Richard. Not in my father’s house, and not in my house.” 

Around the table, seven people sat as still as statues, only their heads moving, looking between the brothers and nephew as if at some strange three way tennis match, while Elizabeth sat quietly eating her lunch as if nothing was happening. 

Uncle Richard seemed to finally notice his sister-in-law was ignoring the proceedings entirely and spoke angrily to her, “Woman, will you put that fork down and curb your son!” 

That was Richard's first Very Big Mistake. 

Edward leaned over the table toward his uncle and spoke in a voice so low and menacing he did not recognize it as his own. “Do not EVER speak to my mother in such a manner.” 

Richard seemed to realize at once both how very tall his nephew was and how very angry he was and quickly stammered an insincere apology to Elizabeth before looking condescendingly, disbelievingly between his nephew and brother and speaking again. “Am I to understand that my brother chose a child and a tradesman over a bank vice-president to handle his estate? Can someone please explain to me why any man in his right mind would make such a foolish choice?” 

Elizabeth had not been ignoring the argument at her table. Nothing of the sort. She'd been listening intently, but her son was the man of the house now and was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles. In fact, she was very proud of how well he was handling himself. Her husband, on the other hand, was no longer able to defend himself, and at the insult to him she spoke up for the first time, her voice neither weak nor hollow. “You may have reasons, perhaps very valid reasons, for not entrusting your estate to your son, Richard, but I assure you, my Edward had no such concerns.” 

Josephine turned angrily to her sister-in-law. “How dare you!” 

Elizabeth met the other woman’s furious gaze with her own steady, confident one. “Do you deny it, Josephine?” 

Edward wondered where he had been the past few weeks; it seemed to him that everyone in the family was aware of whatever difficulty at the bank Laura had eluded to except him. Pushing the thought away, he looked proudly at his mother. _The fight is back in her._

Uncle Richard brought his hand down hard on the table. “I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner!” 

As he turned to his uncle, Edward saw for the first time how truly small, in a way that had nothing to do with physical size, the over-inflated man really was. The man resembled nothing so much as a spoiled child denied a cookie before dinner. “That is a great pity, Uncle Richard. You may have become a much better man had you been put in your place earlier.” 

Turning purple, his uncle glared at him for a moment before turning back to his mother. “Elizabeth, are you going to sit there and allow your son to speak to me like that? Have you taught the boy no manners? Have you taught him no respect for his elders!?” 

Elizabeth spoke with the quiet calm and confidence of someone who knows absolutely that they are wholly in the right. “Edward has been taught to show respect to those deserving of it, whether they be older or younger than himself.” 

Richard was so angry at being insulted—first by being overlooked completely by his brother and now by both a child and a woman—that he was nearly insensible with rage and unable to form a coherent sentence. He could only manage to string together a few words at a time. “unheard of… in all my life… insupportable… ingratitude… will not stand for it….” 

Suddenly tired and having had more than enough and thoroughly disgusted with his uncle, Edward sat back down, unwilling to argue the matter any longer and completely uncaring whether his uncle and his family stayed or left. 

“Oh, Uncle Richard, stick a sock in it.” 

A sudden odd noise—something between a chirp, a squeak, and a cough—startled him, and Edward looked up. He saw Laura, Mic, and Tommy all looking down at the table, all with their napkins covering the lower half of their face, and all with the unmistakable eyes of someone trying desperately not to laugh. 

Richard continued to mutter angrily to himself, and Edward jumped back to his feet so forcefully his chair was knocked over backwards. He was more angry than he had ever been in his life. So livid was he that he was sure in that moment he could spit pure venom. “What did you say?” It surprised Edward how controlled his voice sounded compared to how little control he felt over it.

His uncle seemed to not have realized he'd spoke the words out loud and appeared to melt on the spot under his nephew’s furious glare. 

“I asked you a question. What did you say?” 

Edward could heard his mother, his aunts, and his cousins speaking to him and urging him to calm down, but their words did not fully register through the blind fury in his head. He could feel himself shaking, and his hands were fisted were so tightly he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. “I will ask you one last time. What did you say?” 

It was not until he felt his Uncle Michael’s hand on his shoulder forcing him to sit down—his Uncle Michael, who was so very like his father—that Edward began to be able to think clearly through the indescribable anger clouding his mind. Once his mind cleared enough to think rationally, his strength deserted him, and he felt nothing but shame for allowing the insignificant man's words to affect him so and putting on such an exhibition. 

Edward looked up in exhaustion at his Uncle Richard, who was as white as a sheet and frozen in place. “Gather your things and get out of my house. Call for a taxi. I do not care where you go, but I do not want to see you at my father’s service. I do not want to see you, ever. We are no longer family.” 

He stood on shaky legs, unsure they would not give out on him, but before walking out of the room and upstairs to his bedroom, Edward apologized to the others. “Mother, Uncle Michael, Aunt Louise, Aunt Sarah, Mic, Laura, Tommy, please, forgive me.” 

Climbing the stairs to his room as quickly as his legs would let him, Edward went straight to his room, and once inside he locked the door. At his desk, he pulled out paper to write to Bella, but his hands were shaking so badly it wasn’t possible to write. He took her letter out of his pocket to read the song she sent him to try to calm himself, but his eyes were so full of angry tears it was difficult to see. It was several minutes before he could see clearly enough to read.

_Every night in my dreams_  
_I see you, I feel you_  
_That is how I know you go on._  
_Far across the distance_  
_And spaces between us_  
_You have come to show you go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are_  
_I believe that the heart does go on._  
_Once more you open the door_  
_And you're here in my heart_  
And my heart will go on and on. 

_Love can touch us one time_  
_And last for a lifetime_  
_And never let go till we're gone._  
_Love was when I loved you_  
_One true time I hold to_  
_In my life we'll always go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are_  
_I believe that the heart does go on._  
_Once more you open the door_  
_And you're here in my heart_  
_And my heart will go on and on._

_You're here, there's nothing I fear_  
_And I know that my heart will go on._  
_We'll stay forever this way_  
_You are safe in my heart_  
_And my heart will go on and on._

 

In her letter, Bella had told him she wished she could be there with him to hold his hand, and part of him firmly believed that she truly had only a short while ago. Right now, he wished for that feeling back more than he had ever wished for anything. But holding her letter was as close as he could get. 

The words she had written and the poem and song she'd sent him never failed to be exactly what he needed. Every word she wrote touched him so deeply, it felt as if he was holding her very heart in his hands and could feel it beating in time with his own. 

The words of the song she'd sent him seemed as if they could have been written just for them. _Long after my own heart has stopped, hers will go on. I will be safe, in her heart, until the day we can finally stand face to face._

It was not very long before thoughts of Bella had calmed him enough that he was able to write to her. He had already apologized to his family, but he felt just as strong a need, if not more so, to apologize to her. He knew he would need to apologize to his family again—he had never been more ashamed of himself than he was tight now—but he needed to put it on paper to Bella first. 

Everything always made sense, fell into perspective when he thought about her. 

He wrote quickly and had just put his letter in the drawer when his mother knocked on his door. She walked in quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for him to speak first. Edward attempted to apologize for his behavior, but she raised her hand to stop him. “You do not owe me an apology, Edward, and do not be too hard on yourself. You restrained yourself better than your father did.” 

At her words, understanding immediately filled him. “Their disagreement? All those years ago…. It was over this? This is why they didn’t speak for years?” 

His mother nodded her head, and the corners of her lips curved up into a reluctant smile. “Yes. Well, no. Not entirely, at least. They did not speak for years because your father broke your uncle’s jaw. Although, this was why they fought in the first place.” 

Edward was astonished. He had rarely ever even seen his father angry, rarely ever even heard him raise his voice, and he had gotten into a fist fight with his brother. Even though his father was completely justified, Edward was shocked. Not to mention proud as hell. “Father got into a fist fight?”

“I would hardly go so far as to call it that. It was really just the one punch.” 

Seeing his mother with her hand curled into a tiny little fist imitating the punch his father threw at his brother left Edward suddenly doubled over and gasping for air, so hard did he laugh. _This is highly improper. I am burying my father in two days, and I am laughing so hard it hurts._

“Now, do come downstairs, darling. You have been up here for quite some time. It is nearly time for you to leave for you appointment, and your uncle is waiting for you.” 

That was enough to stop his laughter cold, and he dropped his head into his hands in shame. “Ugh, I am so embarrassed. I behaved so horribly. I must apologize again. I would not blame Uncle Michael if he chose to leave.” 

His mother kissed the top of his head before mussing his already untamable hair. She put her hand under his chin and forced him to look up at her. “Truly, Edward, you are being too hard on yourself. I believe you are in for a surprise.” 

“Mother, how can you be so calm? You know what he said. How can you even stand to have had him in your home?” 

“Because, my love, I have always been able to see Richard for what he truly is, an insignificant, cowardly, petty, little man in a family of far, far better men—your father, your uncle, your grandfather. Richard has always paled sadly in comparison, as his own son does compared to his brothers’, and no one sees this more clearly than he, himself. He can never truly offend me, dearest, because I do not need nor care to have his good opinion.” Elizabeth cupped her son’s face lovingly with both of her hands. “You handled yourself so well, Edward. I am sure your father is very proud.” 

Edward reluctantly rose and followed her downstairs, and as his mother predicted, he truly was surprised. 

“I would have rolled over his toes for that, Edward!” 

“I would have punched him in the nose, knocked his lights right out!” 

“Now, boys...”

“As would I have.” 

All heads turned to Laura at that statement, shocked. She merely shrugged her shoulders and examined the garnet ring on her finger, a look of complete innocence on her face. “What? I would have.” 

“That will do, you three.” 

Edward felt apprehensive as his Uncle Michael approached him, but his uncle put his hand on his shoulder reassuringly and told him it was time to leave. Once outside and away from the house his uncle turned to him and said, “Edward, what Richard said was unpardonable. You had every right to throw him from the house. Please know that no one else in the family has ever… shared his opinion. When your father went to our parents with his intentions to marry your mother, they were overjoyed and gave their full consent.”

Later that night, it was just Edward and his three cousins left in the parlor, his mother and uncle and aunt having already retired for the night. They were still discussing “the incident,” as it was now being called. 

_Father had “the disagreement.” I have “the incident.” Wait until Bella hears that._

Something soft hit him in the face, pulling Edward from his thoughts of Bella, and he picked up a ball of his mother’s knitting yarn from in his lap. 

“Hey, Eddie. Wake up. I’m talking to you.” 

He placed the yarn back in his mother’s knitting basket. “You’re risking your life you know, Mic. Mess with her yarn and my mother might just stab you in your sleep with a knitting needle. We seem to be very hot tempered in this house.” 

Everyone laughed. 

“I’m sorry, Mic. I was thinking about someone. What did you say?” 

Mic and Tommy shared a look, and Laura rolled her eyes. “Now you’ve done it, Edward. You’ve gotten them started.” 

“Someone _who_ , Eddie?” 

“A giiiiiirl someone?” 

“You two are as bad as Frank and Joe. And stop calling me ‘Eddie,’ _Mickey_.” 

“Really, Edward. ‘Stick a sock in it’? What does that even mean?” 

He laughed and ran his hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t exactly know. I heard it from a friend. Oh, for Pete’s sake, will you two stop it?” 

Mic and Tommy were winking at him. “A friend. Right. Don’t worry about us, Eddie. We won’t tell a soul, will we, Tommy?” 

“‘Course not. Silent as church mice, we are.” 

“Is this friend pretty, Edward? Does she know about your violent temper?” 

“Do not pay any attention to them, Edward. They are just jealous as they have no friends.” 

“Yes, that is it. That is true.” Mic threw his head back dramatically and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, woe is me, woe is me. I am stuck in my small, dark room all day every day, all alone, with no one but the pigeons on the ledge outside my one small, dirty window for company. And my dear cousin, my one link to the outside world, refuses to tell me about his friend.” 

Edward leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, shaking his head at his cousin. “Your mother would tan your hide good if she ever heard you call her windows ‘dirty.’” 

“See how hard I have it? Even when I risk my very hide for news, he denies me.” 

Edward looked around at his cousins and contemplated doing something he never thought he would do. “Do you really want to know? Can you keep a secret?” 

At his cousin's excited chorus of “Yes!” he nodded his head at them. 

“Then come with me upstairs. There is something I want to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? What did you think? Drop me a review and let me know.
> 
> Historical note - With early phonographs, the sound came out of a large horn, and they had no volume control. The only way a person could lower the volume was to stuff something in the mouth of the horn, hence the saying "Stick a sock in it." - Per phrases org uk . . . . . . . Per word-detective com - "...the first print citation for "put a sock in it" found so far comes from 1919... ...and takes the form of an explanation of the colloquial meaning of the phrase ("The expression 'Put a sock in it,' meaning 'Leave off talking, singing or shouting'"), hardly necessary if the phrase was widely known at that time."
> 
> Hmmm... The first time "Stick (or put) a sock in it." was used in print was in 1919, and it was so new and not widely known, it needed a footnote explaining what it meant... Hey, maybe Edward and Bella coined a new phrase!!
> 
> The Model T was the first “affordable” car and would've been driven by the middle-class, average person. Uncle Richard sees himself as being superior to anyone who would drive a Model T. For example, a Model T Touring car listed for $690 in 1912. (That was the year I found the sale flyer for online.) Whereas Edward's father's new 1918 Cadillac Type 57 Touring Car sold for $2590.
> 
> Thanks for reading! And remember, if you think you know why Edward and his family did not sail on the Titanic, even though his mother never succeeded in getting his father to change their plans, let me know.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my PTB betas, Jcat5507 & thir13enth!
> 
> Bella and her mother go to a baseball game late in the chapter, which is described in some detail. One of my betas wondered about the significance of the game. Of the game itself, there isn't one, it's irrelevant, so don't worry about it if you don't understand the mechanics. But there is a point to the scene, which I'll explain in my end notes..
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Bella was beyond livid. _You want to choke the bastard, Edward? I’ll hold him down for you._ Sitting at their desk, she was unable to sit still and was shaking with anger, but on reading his letter a second time, her anger began to be overridden by concern. _Why are you being so hard on yourself, Edward? I wouldn’t blame you if you did hit him, who could? After what he said, he would’ve richly deserved it. You, a monster? Please. No one could ever be further from being a monster than you._ In the end, her concern for him completely surpassed her anger at his uncle, and she wrote back, trying to assure him he had done nothing to be ashamed of. 

Renee was in the kitchen with the contents of her purse spilled all over the table when Bella entered the room later that day. 

“What are you looking for, Mom?” 

“I can’t find the slip of paper I wrote your appointment for Sunday on. Do you remember what time it was?” 

“1:30.” 

Bella walked over to the fridge, took the note off, and handed it to her mother before getting herself a Vitamin Water and sitting down at the table. 

Her mother sighed. “I could’ve sworn I put that in my purse.” 

“How was the game?” 

“Oh, good. I think. Phil’s team won. So that’s good, right? How was your day?” 

“OK. I made a BLT earlier, you want one? I got tomatoes at the farmer’s market after school.”

“Oh, that sounds great, I’m starved.” 

Bella got up and got the bacon out of the fridge. “Should I put the rest on for Phil?” 

When her mother didn’t answer, Bella turned around and saw her lost in another bridal magazine, looking at the bridesmaid dresses this time. _Ugh. Not pink, not pink, not pink. Please, God, anything but pink._

“What do you think about mauve? I think it’ll look nice with your dark hair.” 

Bella squirmed at the thought of having to wear pink. It looked fine on other people, but she wasn’t crazy about it for herself. Rather like dresses in general. But... it was her mother’s wedding, and if she really wanted her in pink, then she’d just have to suck it up and wear pink. 

However, that didn’t mean she’d give in without at least trying for a different color. 

“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe blue or purple.” Her mother didn’t say anything, and Bella wasn’t sure she’d even heard her. “Mom?” 

“What about this one, honey? I think it’ll look great on you.” 

When she looked at the picture her mother was holding up, Bella moaned. “I don’t know, Mom. It’s kinda long, and I have that whole tripping and falling down thing.” 

“Hmmm, maybe it could be shortened.” 

The dress was floor length, fitted to the waist, and strapless. And, better still, it came in six different shades of pink.

_Strapless. Great. Perfect. I can just rip the thing right off when I trip on it. 'How was the wedding? Oh, it was great. You should’ve been there. The bride’s daughter tripped and fell and ripped her dress half off. Flashed everyone right there in the church. It’ll be on Funniest Videos next month._

“I was really thinking of something with straps.” 

“Oh, but Bella, strapless is the style. You’ve got to have a strapless dress.” 

“You don’t.” 

“I’m not sixteen.” 

Bella plastered a smile on her face. _It’s her wedding. Just go to your happy place and deal with it. If you ever get married, you can elope to Vegas and wear an old T-shirt, jeans with holes in the knees, and flip flops. Mismatched flip flops._ “You’re the bride, Mom, whatever you want.”  
  
..ooOoo..  
  
“Well?” Edward sat at their desk with his cousins around him waiting for some kind of response after what he'd just told them. He was glad he'd decided to share this with them and was sure it was the right decision, but his cousins just looked back and forth at each other without saying a word. 

Frankly, he was a bit disappointed. It was anticlimactic to say the least. He did not know what he'd expected, but they should have had some kind of reaction, surely.

Finally, Mic spoke up. “Edward? Have you hit your head recently?” 

They thought he was cracking up. Not surprising, he remembered thinking that same thing himself once. “I assure you, I am perfectly sane. It is the truth.” 

“You seriously expect us to believe that you… put letters in Grandfather’s desk… and… they vanish?” 

“They do not just vanish.” 

“Oh, no. No, of course not. That would be silly. They magically appear in—when did you say?— the 21st Century, to someone who writes back to you.” 

“To Bella.” 

“Right, right. Yes, of course, to Bella. Edward, are you sure you are feeling quite well? You have been under a terrible strain these past few days, you know.” 

It was Laura who spoke up this time, before being cut off by Tommy. “It is not that we don’t believe you, Edward—” 

“Yes it is. It is that, exactly. We don’t believe you.” 

“You cannot honestly expect us believe this, Edward,” Mic added sympathetically. 

Shaking his head at them, Edward hid his smile behind his hand. _Just wait, you will see._ He reached for a piece of paper and dipped his pen in ink. “I know it seems impossible. When I found her first letter, I truly thought I had lost my mind. Just watch, I will show you.” 

He wrote a quick note to Bella, but on opening the hidden compartment, he was surprised to see a letter there waiting for him already. He did not expect her to have written back already, and he was hesitant to take her letter out in front of his cousins. He was glad he had decided to tell them about her, but he'd never intended to actually share her letters with them. They were private. This letter in particular, he would never want anyone else to see. _What if she is disappointed in me?_

“Do be serious, Edward. Hiding a letter and pretending it is from some mysterious girl in the future is not funny. I am surprised at you. This is hardly the time for jokes.” Laura’s reaching her hand out to take Bella’s letter, believing he had put it there himself to play a trick on them, was enough to bring him back to himself, and Edward quickly grabbed Bella's letter before his cousin could touch it. For a moment it seemed as if his cousins faded away, and he was alone in his room with Bella’s letter. He could hear Laura’s shocked exclamation, but it did not matter. All that mattered was whether Bella forgave him.  
  
_Dear Edward,  
When you said you threw your uncle out of the house, I do hope you meant that literally. I hope you meant you picked him up by the neck and the seat of his pants and physically chucked him out the door. It would serve him right. You should’ve ripped him a new one. _

_The only thing I can’t understand is why on earth you feel so bad about it. You are being much too hard on yourself, Edward. Remember, my father is Chief of Police, trust me when I say that wanting to choke someone is not a crime. If it was, they would not be able to build enough prisons. No human being alive could have heard what he said and not reacted. If anything, I think you showed remarkable restraint. Much more than I would have. Please let it go. You have enough to deal with; do not waste time or energy worrying yourself sick over him. He is not worth it._

_Your friend, always,_

_Bella_

_She forgives me._

“Edward, are you ill? You are quite pale.” 

_She forgives me._

“Edward? Edward, answer me.” 

“She forgives me.” 

“Edward, what are you talking about? Who forgives you?” 

“She… Bella… she... forgives me.” 

Similar to how he felt when he first heard Mic's voice at the train station that afternoon, Edward felt the most enormous relief at her words, like a tremendous weight was suddenly lifted off of him, and he was able to breathe again. He had been so worried she would think poorly of him, but now he felt positively weak with relief. 

Mic was sitting near enough to him that he was able to lean forward and grab Bella’s letter. “Really, Edward, this is taking things too far.” 

“No!” Edward leaped up and grabbed the letter away from his cousin. 

“Edward! Enough is enough.” 

Edward ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair, and apologized to his cousins. “I am sorry. But I am not joking. I promise you what I am telling you is the truth. Watch.” Picking up the letter he had just written to Bella, Edward put it in the compartment before closing it and putting the drawer back in his desk. “There. Open it and see for yourselves.” 

“Really, Edward, I don’t see—” 

“Just... Please, Mic, trust me. Open it and look. See for yourself.” 

Edward moved out of the way, and Mic, visibly annoyed, rolled himself close enough to the desk to pull the drawer back out and opened the hidden compartment. “Edward, if you have rigged something to jump out at me….” 

Mic leaned back in his chair with the drawer on his lap, obviously surprised. “It’s gone.” 

“See, I told you.” 

Rolling his eyes at his credulous older brother, Tommy stepped forward and took the drawer from him. “Let me see that. It is just hidden somewhere. What did you do, put something sticky on the back of the false bottom?” 

Tommy took the drawer back to his sister, and they examined it together before grudgingly admitting it was a good trick. “How did you do it?” 

“It is not a trick. I put my letters to her in the hidden compartment, and somehow, she gets them. It is the same with her letters to me.” 

“So, they just appear in her desk?” 

“No, actually. I do not think they every actually leave the desk. Somehow, they just…. I realize this sounds insane, impossible, and believe me, at first I truly worried I had lost my mind, but they leave our time and appear in hers. As do her letters to me.” It was clear his cousins still did not believe him, but Edward could hardly blame them. They only had his word that what was happening to him and Bella was real; he was one of the ones it was actually happening to, and he'd had trouble accepting it in the beginning. 

“How can she get them if they never actually leave Grandfather’s desk?” 

“She has this very desk. It was—will be—given to her as a gift by one of our descendants.”  
Mic was scratching his head and rubbed his hand across his face. “Edward, this is simply not possible.” 

His conversation from weeks ago with Dr. Cullen sprang to Edward's mind. “A thing is only impossible until someone does it. Look at aeroplanes. Grandfather would have thought them impossible, but we have them.” 

Laura and Tommy agreed with their brother. 

“I am sorry, Edward. I cannot believe this.” 

“If it is true, prove it to us.” 

“You saw it happen, how else can I prove it?” 

It was Tommy who made the inevitable request. “Ask her to tell us something. Ask her when the war will end.” 

Uncomfortable, Edward looked down at the floor and answered very quietly. “November 11th. She has already told me.” As he expected, his statement was met with absolute silence. That was not the type of thing someone expects to hear. “You cannot tell anyone else. No one. Who would believe you? You are my cousins, and even you don’t believe me.” 

Mic spoke very hesitantly, “November? This November? That is... that is in… less than four months.” 

Edward could see that his cousins still found this very hard to believe, but they were looking at him now with hope in their eyes. They knew of his intention to enlist and of the friends he already had over there fighting; they knew he would not say something like that lightly. Laura and Tommy were still silent. Mic leaned forward as far as he could. “Edward, are… are you… are you in earnest? Will the war truly end… in… in less than four months?” 

“Yes. Upon my honor, the war will end, and the men will come home.” 

His cousins eyes were all fixed solidly on him. Mic licked his lips before wiping them with his hand. “How?” 

“She did not go into detail. Remember for her,” he waved his hand around like he was showing off the room to someone who had never seen it, “all of this was a very long time ago. You studied the War of 1812, but how much do you remember? She only said an armistice will be signed.” 

Mic looked up, shocked, but it was Laura who spoke this time in an uncertain voice. “1812? But… but… that was… that was…” 

Edward nodded his head in understanding, finishing the sentence she was unable to. “A very long time ago.” 

Again, he was met with silence. He did not speak for several minutes, knowing his cousins needed time to absorb what they had been told, and when he did, his cousins jumped although he spoke very softly. “There is another thing she told me. Two things, actually. Neither good, and both going to happen very soon.” 

At the scared looks on his cousins' faces, Edward hastened to explain. “Not to us. Not to us directly, anyway. On the 17th...” he trailed off, surprised that the time had gone so quickly and feeling guilty for not have realized it. _Two days. People are going to die in two days. And I forgot. I actually forgot._ “The Russian Czar and his family are being held prisoners. You all know that.”

Without saying a word, his cousins nodded their heads in unison. 

Edward took a deep breath and let it out in a rush of words. “They are going to be assassinated. All of them. On the 17th. It will be officially announced a couple of days later, but only the Czar. The announcement will say the 16th, but it was—or will be—after midnight in the early hours of the 17th, and it will say that his wife and heir were taken to a place of safety, when in actuality, they were all killed.” 

When he paused for a moment, Mic spoke, “You said, you said two things.” 

“The Carpathia will be sunk. That same day. Five people will be killed. Near Ireland.” 

Laura wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. “This is horrible. Oh, this is horrible. I am never going to another fortune teller again.” 

Edward agreed. “I thought that same thing when she first told me. Pretending to know the good is one thing; truly knowing the bad is something else entirely.” 

Ever the optimist, Mic tried to look on the bright side. “But the war will end. That is... that is the most important. The war will end.” 

Everyone silently nodded their heads solemnly, thinking of the people who did not know their lives would end in less than forty eight hours. 

Laura broke the silence. “I would not want to know. If it was me, I would not want to know.” 

“I would.” 

Everyone looked at Mic, and Edward asked, “You would?” 

Looking down at his useless legs, Mic slowly nodded his head. “Yes, I would. Without a doubt. That last day…. None of you can ever understand.... There are so many things I wish I had done. I wish I had gone for a walk. I wish I had played ball. Gone fishing. Done something. Anything. Just... jumped up and down, even. But I did nothing. I just sat around the house moping about some inconsequential thing that I cannot even recall. Then they were just gone. Overnight. They were just gone. 

“Losing something is not the worst thing in the world. Knowing you wasted it on the last day you had it is far worse.” 

Shaking off his melancholy characteristically, Mic looked over at Tommy, who had not uttered a single sound since asking for proof that what Edward was telling them was true. “You OK there, Tommy Boy?” Tommy's eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. He was so very big for his age, it was sometimes too easy to forget he was only just thirteen. 

He nodded his head but did not look up, and Edward thought he heard a soft sniffle. The other three shared a glance and gave the younger boy some privacy. 

Mic asked Edward, “What about you, Eddie? If your days were numbered, would you want to know?” 

Edward didn’t answer right away. In his case, it wasn’t a fair question. In his case, it was the other way around. He knew he had time. Time enough at least to marry and have children, or at least one child. He didn’t tell his cousins who it was exactly who had given Bella their grandfather’s desk—that it had been, or will be, his grandson.

_Still, though... Just because it is not going to be anytime soon, does not mean that when my time does come that it won’t come very suddenly. Would I want to know? Would Father have wanted to know? Would it be better to know, to give you a chance to do what was most important to you, to tell someone you love them or to be able to tell them good-bye? Or would it be agonizing, counting every minute, watching them tick away one by one while knowing there are so many things you will never do, places you will never go, people you will never see again?_

“I do not know. I honestly do not know. I think I am glad to not have to choose.”  
  
..ooOoo..  
  
_Ugh, ew, ew, ew._ Bella closed herself in her room trying very hard to get the memory of the way her mom and Phil were looking at each other out of her head. _That is just so not right. Ew ew ew ew. What are they going to be like after the wedding? Oh, God...._

She understood that now that the preseason had started, Phil would be on the road a lot, and she understood that would be rotten for her mother. (Once, she'd made the mistake of thinking _how hard it would be for her mother._ Only once.) She understood Phil’s first road trip started tomorrow, and she understood that they would miss each other. 

That did not mean she wanted to be anywhere nearby when they said good-bye. 

Bella wasn’t naïve enough to think her mother had been celibate since leaving her father, but her mother had always been very careful to never so much as kiss a man whenever Bella was there, and there were never, ever sleepovers. Now that they were engaged, though, apparently, all bets were off, and there were no holds barred. 

Bella shuddered. _Oh, God! There’s another expression to add to the banned forever list._

She looked at the clock; it was nearly four o'clock. Phil had a home game tonight at 7:30 that she and her mother were going to, and he had to be at the field by 5:15. 

Hearing her mother’s bedroom door close, Bella quickly decided to make herself scarce for the next hour and fifteen minutes. Grabbing her iPod off the charger and her purse off their desk and making very sure her ear buds were in place before opening her door, Bella yelled, “Going for a walk!” and ran out the door as quickly as she could without falling. 

Only a few steps out the door, she felt something very small collide with her from behind, and she turned around, pulling her ear buds out. “What the...? Oh, Kenny. How’s my bestest little bud?” 

Kenny was jumping up and down excitedly, pointing to his mouth, and yelling, “Miss Belly, look’it look’it! Miss Belly, look’it look’it! 

Sonia Ruiz came up to them. “Kenny, tell Miss Bella you’re sorry. You ran right into her.” “I’m sorry, Miss Belly, but look’it look’it look’it!!” 

“It’s OK, Kenny. I didn’t hear you. What am I looking at?” 

Kenny was still jumping up and down. “My tooth, my tooth, my tooth!! Look’it my tooth, it’s loose! Look’it, Miss Belly!! I got a loose tooth! I got a loose tooth!!” 

“You do? Let me see.” 

The excited little boy stopped jumping up and down just long enough to give his front tooth a wiggle. 

Bella could only smile at how excited the little boy was, and she knelt down next to him, put her hands on her face and pretended to be surprised by something. “Kenny! Guess what!” 

Having started running around in circles again pretending to be an airplane, Kenny stopped and ran back to Bella, who scooped him up in her arms. “What? What? What? What?” 

“Kenny! Guess what, guess what!” 

“What, Miss Belly?! What?!” 

Tickling him, Bella asked, “Did you know you’ve got a loose tooth?” 

Kenny giggled wildly as she kept tickling him before setting him back on the ground. 

“Do you think The Tooth Fairy will come, Miss Belly? Do you, do you?” 

Before answering, Bella shot a quick glance at Sonia, and at her nod she answered, “I bet he will. Only if you’re good, though. Have you been good?” 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” 

“Then I bet he will.” 

Sonia and Bella watched Kenny run around in circles. “Someday, someone is going to figure out how to bottle that energy and make a fortune.” 

Bella nodded her head in agreement. 

“How have the wedding plans been going?” 

Bella shrugged her shoulders as she answered, “Good, I guess. We have an appointment to go for my dress tomorrow.” 

Sonia looked at Bella. “You don’t sound very excited. You do like Phil, don’t you?” 

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Phil’s great. It’s shopping I don’t like.” 

Sonia laughed, “I thought all teenage girls loved to shop. I know I did.” 

“Not me. My mom always says I was born middle-aged and get older every year.” 

“Where are you off to? Friday night plans?” 

“No, just going for a walk. Phil has to leave for his first road trip tomorrow. Actually, he has a game tonight, and their buses leave right after it. They’ll get to Vegas sometime early tomorrow. He’ll be gone for eight days.” She looked over her shoulder, back at the house, and looked around to see how close Kenny was. “They’re, ah... they’re… saying goodbye.” 

Sonya nodded her head understandingly and laughed. “Aha, gotcha. They take the bus? I always thought baseball players all traveled on chartered jets.” 

“Not in the minors, they don’t.” 

Kenny ran back up to them. “Mommy, can Miss Belly come play with me? Can you, Miss Belly? Can you? Can you?” 

“Not tonight, sweetest. Miss Bella and her mommy are going to a baseball game.” 

“OOOHH!!! Can I go, too? Can I, can I, can I?” 

Bella knelt down to him. “Not this time, little man. It’s going to be over very late. Another time, I promise. I think they even give tours of the stadium to extra good little boys. Do you know any extra-good little boys? I mean really, really extra, extra good?” 

Jumping up and down, Kenny yelled, “Me! Me! Me! Me! Me! Me!” 

“I think I might just be able to, possibly, maybe, see what I can do.” 

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Thank you, Miss Belly! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” 

Hugging her legs, Kenny was still jumping up and down in his excitement, and Bella ruffled his hair. 

“Is it alright if Kenny goes for a little walk with me, Mrs. Ru... sorry, Sonia? I’m just going to the book store on Oak St.” 

“I think that’d be OK. Do you want to go for a walk with Miss Bella, Kenny?” 

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” 

“Then let’s go, little man.” 

Mann’s Books was just about Bella’s favorite place in the world. It dated to the late 1920’s in the same location, and the current owners were the third generation of Manns to own the store. It was big enough that she could find what she wanted, but not so big that she couldn’t find what she wanted. 

And the best part–there was no plastic, fiberglass, or laminate anywhere in the place. 

“Look, Kenny, they’re having storytelling. Do you want to hear a story?” 

An older woman Bella knew to be one of the second generations of Manns was already in the middle of a story when she signed him in. They had their picture taken together, and she found him a seat among the other kids. She’d seen parents do this a lot. They often had story time for the kids, so the parents could shop in peace. And, of course, all the books read during story time were conveniently on sale that day. The picture was taken for security. Whoever signed a child in had their picture taken with the child and was the only one who could sign the child out. 

Bella browsed around at little, but there was something in particular she was looking for. _Here we go._ She picked up a copy of _Baseball for Dummies_ and grinned. _Only for you, Edward. Only for you._

She began flipping through the pages. _What is baseball… Suiting up… Rules… Swinging… Pitching… Defense… Base running… Oh, yeah, this is perfect._

On her way to the cashier, Bella noticed a display of pretty stationary, decorative Victorian-style boxes, pens, and journals. They were all on sale, and as she stopped to look at them, she bit her lip, suddenly self-conscious. Edward has always written to her on obviously expensive stationary, but her letters to him were just on paper ripped out of her school notebooks. 

Most of the stationary was much too girly for her tastes, but there was one that caught her eye. It was plain white and trimmed with purple. She picked up the box that was open for display and felt the paper. It was heavy and slightly textured. Bella nodded to herself and picked up a box of stationary and a new pen. _Some girls do their hair or make up or wear sexy clothes to impress a guy. Not me, I buy paper._ She looked at the boxes, too. _It would be nice to have somewhere special to keep his letters. I just have them stacked in the bottom drawer._ Bella picked out a rectangular shaped box in dark purple that wasn’t too overly ornate. 

After paying, she went back to the kid’s area. Luckily, a story was just ending. “Are you ready to go, Angel?” 

Kenny took her hand, and she signed him out. They gave her their picture, and she put it in her bag. 

On their way home, Kenny told her all about the story they’d read. “Amelia Bedelia is silly, Miss Belly. Someone told her to hit the road, and she went outside and hit the road with a stick!” 

As they walked down their street, Bella was relieved to see Phil’s car was gone from the driveway. After taking Kenny home, she went inside to find her mom. “Hey, Mom. I’m back. What time do you want to go?” 

Renee was sitting on the couch folding clothes with the laundry basket on the floor next to her. She didn’t answer Bella. She had just picked one of Phil’s T-shirts out of the basket, and she started to cry. 

_Oh crap._ “Mom, hey. It’s OK. It’s only a little while. Don’t… don’t cry.” _Please, please, please don’t cry. _“He’ll be back soon. You’ll see.”__

__Her mother nodded her head and wiped her eyes but didn’t say anything._ _

__“I’m just, ah, I’m just going to go hang out in my room. Call me... when... when you’re ready to go.” Unaccustomed to consoling people, Bella went over to her mother and gave her an awkward hug before running to her room and hiding. As soon as she got to her room she put her book down on their desk and looked for a new letter but didn’t find one. She’d been thinking about Edward all week. He'd buried his father two days ago, and she hadn’t heard from him since. Since the letter after the blow up with his uncle four days ago, she had only gotten just one short note that same day. She still could not believe what it said._ _

_My Dearest Bella,_

_I told my cousins about you. They think I must have hit my head. I remain,_

_Your Friend,_

_Edward_  
  


_Really, Edward. I don’t know if there are any cosmic laws about time traveling letters, but if there are, I’m pretty sure “DON’T TELL ANYONE!” would be way up high on that list. What were you thinking?_

Although she wasn’t entirely surprised to not have heard anything given his circumstances, she still worried. _I hope his uncle isn’t making trouble for him._

On the other hand, although it was something she'd originally only thought of jokingly, what if his telling his cousins what was happening really did break whatever spell they were under? 

Trying not to think like that, Bella sat down at their desk and started to look through _Baseball for Dummies_ and had just gotten through the section on the rules when her mother called her, and she walked into the living room still reading her book. “I don’t understand this game at all, Mom. The rules all have exceptions, and even the exceptions have exceptions.” 

__“What do you have there, honey?”_ _

__Bella held the book of for her mom to see. “Oh, baby, what a good idea. Thank you, sweetie. Maybe we’ll understand what’s going on at the game.”_ _

“What? Oh, right.” _Jeez, I did it again. I never even thought about Phil._ “I think it’ll take more than one night to figure this out, Mom. It’s really confusing.” Bella handed her mom the book and Renee was now looking through it, a little over optimistically in Bella’s opinion. 

“I’m sure we can figure it out. How hard can it be? It’s only a game after all.”  
.  
“Shouldn’t he be out? The ball got there first, why is he safe?” Bella was questioning the wife of one of Phil’s friends on the team, who had introduced herself way back in the first inning and had made the mistake of offering to help them understand the game. Actually, grilling would be a better word for what she was doing to the poor woman, who Bella suspected regretted ever opening her mouth, but she was determined to understand as much as she could before the game was over. 

Her mother had only made it to the top of the third inning before giving up. 

_Top of the inning, that means the away team is batting, and the home team is in the field. See, Edward, I learned something tonight._

__It was now the bottom of the 9th, and Phil’s team was batting, down by a run. Bella had been writing notes in her book for three hours._ _

__“He’s our player, Bella. It’s a good thing he’s safe.”_ _

__“No. I mean, yes. I understand that. I just don’t understand why he’s safe if the ball was there first.”_ _

__The poor woman–whose name Bella had completely forgotten–explained, “He stole second. When a player steals a base, it’s not a force play. He has to be tagged with the ball. You can’t just tag the base and get him out; you have to actually tag him. His foot was on the base before the tag was applied.”_ _

__Bella repeated what the woman said and took notes as if she was studying for finals. “…stolen base… not a force play… tag runner….”_ _

__The woman smiled at her indulgently. “You remind me of me when I first started dating Dave, Bella. I didn’t know anything about baseball either, and I was eager to learn everything there was to learn. I figured, how hard can it be? It’s just a game.”_ _

__Bella laughed and tried to whisper, but there was too much noise. “That’s exactly what my mom said on our way here. So, how did you and Dave meet?”_ _

__“He was the star shortstop on our high school team. Everyone knew he’d go pro even then, and he already had scouts looking at him in our junior year. He could’ve had any girl in school he wanted.” She laughed and shook her head, remembering back six years ago. “There was this one girl, Tiffany. She actually offered to carry his books. You should’ve seen this girl, a Barbie doll would’ve taken one look her and said, ‘Oh, please, those are so fake’.”_ _

__Bella laughed and the other woman– Kate, she remember now–continued, “At least if her plane ever goes down over the ocean, she’s got her own built-in floatation device.”_ _

__“What happened? Did he ask this Tiffany out?”_ _

__“All the kids assumed he would. Who Tiffany wanted, Tiffany got. And she wanted him in a big way. But, no, he didn’t. He asked a member of the debate team to prom a week later. Surprised everyone in school, let me tell you.” Kate looked at her husband coming up to the plate. She waved and blew him a kiss before looking back at Bella. “My dress was blue. We’ve been together ever since.”_ _

__Bella grinned from ear to ear as Kate showed her her wedding and engagement rings. “We were married in December.”_ _

__“That is such a great story. Tiffany must’ve been pissed.”_ _

__“Could’ve spit nails. Till this day she glares at me if we see each other when Dave and I go back home.”_ _

__Kate looked at her with a knowing smile on her face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a bit of a crush on a ball player.”_ _

__Bella could feel her face burn and looked to make sure her mom wasn’t paying attention before answering as quietly as she could. “Maybe a little.”_ _

__Kate winked at her. “I knew it. Someone at school?”_ _

__When Bella said no, Kate looked at her with a little concern forming in her eyes. “The guys on the team are all great guys, Bella, but they’re a bit too old for you.”_ _

“What? Oh, no. Oh, God, no. He’s 17,” _Well, technically, he’s 108, but who cares about semantics,_ “but he doesn’t go to my school. He’s just a guy I know.” 

__The pitcher had made a show of making a couple throws to second to keep the runner, one of the fastest guys on the team, from taking too big of a lead, but was pitching to the batter now, and both Bella and Kate focused on the game again. There were two outs, and the man on second was the only runner. With a count of two and two, Dave singled, and the runner advanced to third. Another player walked up to the plate, and Phil came out of the dugout._ _

__Leaning toward her, Kate said, “Look, Bella, Phil’s on deck.”_ _

__Bella thumbed through her book trying to look up what “on deck” meant._ _

__Kate laughed and explained, “That means he’s next up after the batter at the plate now.”_ _

__“Oh. Why do they call it that?”_ _

__“Absolutely no idea.”_ _

__Bella turned to her mom and pointed to Phil. “Mom, look, Phil’s on deck.”_ _

__Her mom had been looking around absentmindedly but brightened when she saw Phil. He was swinging a bat with circles at the end._ _

__The runner on third was taking as big a lead as he could. Bella wanted to ask Kate what the circle things on the bat were, but she was watching the game again, and she didn’t want to interrupt her._ _

__There were still two outs, but the tying run was now on third. Bella had to admit, it was exciting._ _

__The batter swung at the first ball and missed. The umpire yelled, “Strike one!” The second and third pitches were high and outside, and the count was now two and one. The pitcher threw over to third trying to pick off the runner, and Bella was on her feet with everyone else. Everyone was yelling, “Come on!” and she was surprised to realize she was yelling right along with them._ _

The pitcher was looking at the catcher, and Bella could see him shaking his head, as if he was saying, “No.” _What’s he saying no to? Who’s he saying no to?_ After a few shakes of his head, the catcher got up and jogged out to the mound. The infielders all jogged in and met the pitcher and catcher, all talking with their mitts over their faces. 

__The umpire went out and broke it up, and the players all went back to their positions._ _

__The pitcher looked at third, and the runner went back and touched the base with his foot before taking a lead again. The next pitch was low, but the batter didn’t swing. The count went to three and one. The pitcher looked at third again briefly before throwing one right down the middle. The batter got his pitch and swung. The ball flew. Bella was on her feet screaming with everyone else. It almost looked as if the ball was going in slow motion._ _

__The runners had taken off at the crack of the bat, and the runner on third had already scored with Dave heading for third. The ball was going right down the third base line, but it was hooking left. It went over the fence just to the wrong side of the foul pole, and with a collective groan, the entire crowd fell back into their seats._ _

__The umpire yelled, “Strike two!”_ _

__Bella felt as if she’d been punched. She looked at Kate, who had her head in her hands, shaking her head. “Why isn’t that a home run? It went over the fence! Why isn’t it a home run?”_ _

__Kate didn’t answer; it was on old man behind who leaned forward and said, “That’s what they call ‘a noisy strike,’ honey.”_ _

__The man was the grandfather of one of the players, and Kate looked back and smiled at him. “It was a foul ball, Bella. It’s only a home run if it’s fair. If it’s foul, it’s just a strike, just a very noisy strike. It’s a dead ball. The runners have to go back to their bases.”_ _

__“You mean we have to do it all over again?”_ _

__“Yup.”_ _

__“I don’t think I like this game.”_ _

__“Oh, just wait. There will be times when you’ll absolutely hate it.”_ _

__The count was now three and two. The next two pitches were fouled back and out of play. Bella was sitting on the edge of her seat with her hands over her face, peaking out between her fingers. _I really don’t think I like this game.__ _

__The next pitch was hit sharply, a ground ball down the third base line, just fair this time. The runners took off at the crack of the bat, and the runner on third crossed the plate. The third baseman was playing deep and dove, only just reaching the ball. He spun around and threw to first from his knees. Dave represented the winning run and had rounded second heading for third. The play at first was very close, and Bella was on her feet, actually holding her breath, her hands in fists._ _

__“You're Out!”_ _

“What!? _What!_ ” Bella looked around, and everyone was grumbling and beginning to gather their things. “But, but… What?” 

__Kate looked at her sympathetically. “I know it sucks, Bella. It was a tough one, but if you’ve got your eye on a ball player, you’re going to have to get used to it. Can’t win’em all.”_ _

__“But….”_ _

__Kate looked around passed Bella and said good-bye to Renee. “It was nice to meet you, Bella.” She added in a whisper with a wink, “Good luck with your guy,” and then she was gone._ _

__Bella watched her go. “But… But….”_ _

__“Oh, my back is killing me, these seats are horrible. You ready to go, honey? Got everything? Let’s get out of here. It’s been a long day, and I’m beat.”_ _

__“What? Oh. Oh, yeah, I, I have everything.” Bella had her book in her hand, and her purse was on her seat next to her. She followed her mother out of the stadium still looking back at the field, confused._ _

_But he scored. The guy on third, he scored. The game is tied. We tied it. What the hell? I really, really don’t think I like this game. Edward, you have got some explaining to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No historical notes this time, since most of the chapter is Bella's POV.
> 
> As for the baseball game scene, like I said, the game itself means nothing, but the scene does. My beta mentioned it could be seen as a mother–daughter bonding scene, but I see it as just the opposite. I wanted to show Bella trying to learn about something Edward was interested in. I also wanted to show sort of “a flip side” to Jason. Kate's husband, Dave, asked out the girl he really liked instead of Tiffany—the popular girl the whole school expected him to ask out—and they lived happily ever after. But Jason didn't. He caved and gave in to his friends' expectations and asked out the popular (read: easy) girl instead. He regrets it, but it’s too late. Also, it sets up a scene in a later chapter. Lastly, I was a bit caught up in the Royal Wedding when I wrote this chapter, so Kate—a recent bride—is named for Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. I thought it would be a bit overkill to make her husband's name William, though.
> 
> I was surprised how many people said the Masens couldn't have sailed on Titanic because it never reached NYC. There were a lot of American's on board coming home. You didn't necessarily sail both ways on the same ship. But that is the basic gist of it, they were on a later sailing. It's just the reasoning that surprised me, especially since in the movie, Jack was an American returning home. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any comments or questions, drop me a review!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my PTB betas, Thir13enth and jennej, and my Twilighted Beta, Jakeward
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

On the last day of his Uncle Michael’s stay, Edward was the first person down to breakfast. Over the past few days, he and his cousins had continued the discussion they'd started Monday night after he told them about Bella. He'd told them of his resolution to not waste a single day, to not put things off until tomorrow, and they had all agreed, going so far as to make a plan between themselves. They knew their parents had all talked several times of Edward and his parents paying a visit to them in New York City, but the visit never happened. One family or the other was always too busy. There would always be next year. 

No longer. There wasn’t always a next year. 

Given Edward’s father’s death, a visit sooner than next summer would not be possible, but they were determined to see that it happened this time, and last night after dinner, Mic broached the subject to his father. His father had readily agreed, and would propose it to Elizabeth sometime early in the new year, once she had had time to mourn, and insist upon their coming. 

_It will give Mother something to look forward to. We can go to the Great White Way and take in a show or two. We can go to Atlantic City and walk along the Boardwalk and bathe in the sea. It is a good plan. She will be herself again. This will not break her. Father would not want it, and I will not allow it._

“Good morning, Nellie, Catherine.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Masen, sir.” 

“No one else down yet?” 

Nellie poured him a cup of coffee. “No, sir. You are the first. Everyone will be down shortly, I expect. Maggie went up to help the ladies dress.” 

Edward had wanted to be the first one down this morning as he was anxious to see the newspaper, but now that he had it in front of him, he too was nervous to open it. July 17th had come and gone, and Edward expected to see the news of the assassination of the Russian royal family on the front page any day now. Bella had told him it would be in the papers a couple days afterward and had actually given him the exact wording, but she had not given him the date on which it would appear.

“Is anything the matter, Mr. Masen?” 

“What? Oh, no… no, nothing.” 

_Just pick it up and open it. It is not going to bite you._

Edward reached out for the paper. He opened it quickly, and when this morning’s headlines greeted him, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. 

_“EX-CZAR OF RUSSIA KILLED BY ORDER OF URAL SOVIET”_

He set the paper down and covered his face with trembling hands. _It happened, Bella. It happened._ After a few moments, he picked the paper back up and read the article. _“Wife and son sent to a place of safety.” Exactly like you said._

Edward was sitting staring blindly at the paper when he heard his cousins coming down the stairs, and he rose to meet them. 

He'd had some minor concerns about accommodating Mic during his stay, but he knew they would somehow manage it. The first time he saw Mic tackle the staircase was something he knew he would never forget. Either his father or brother would help him out of his chair and sit him on the stairs. From there he would lift himself up and hoist himself up the stairs using his hands, dragging his legs, one stair at a time. It was slow, but it was amazing, and the first time he saw it, he stood there with his mouth hanging open. He remembered his cousin’s words: “Close your mouth, Eddie. You will catch flies. What, did you think you were going to carry me like some damsel in distress? Scrawny little thing like you? You’d drop me. This is nothing. Wait till you see me come down. I brought a sled.” 

Mic’s mother had reprimanded him for making jokes at a time like this, but Mic’s jokes were just what Edward needed. Mic’s jokes were normal. 

His uncle was waiting at the bottom of the steps with his son’s wheelchair, and Tommy was following his brother down. Coming down the stairs was a bit trickier that going up, but Mic had mastered it. 

“Top’o the mornin’ to you, Eddie.” Mic nodded his head at the paper in his hands. The corners of his mouth were raised in a smile in an attempt to appear normal, but his eyes were very serious, and Edward could hear the strain in his voice. “Anything interesting in the paper this morning?” 

Edward tried to answer him, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, nodded his head, and tried again. “Yes. Yes, there is. The Russian Czar has been assassinated.” 

His uncle stepped forward after helping his son back into his wheelchair and exclaimed, “What! Let me see that.” 

Edward handed him the paper, and the three boys looked at each other before following him to the dining room, where they were taking breakfast during their stay, in silence. Not one of them uttered a word while he read the article. When his uncle had finished, he put the paper down on the table and said, “Shocking, simply shocking. Damned Bolsheviks. Upon my honor, I do not know what the world is coming to. What will become of the Czarina and the children, I wonder? Asylum somewhere, I suppose.” 

The four ate silently—Edward and his cousins knowing what his uncle did not, that the Czarina, the Duchesses, and the heir were all dead as well, not to mention five crewmen aboard the Carpathia—and when they were finished, Michael Masen set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest, looking slowly from one to another. “All right, you three. Out with it. What have you done?” 

Edward and his cousins looked back and forth between each other in confusion before Mic asked, “What do you mean? We have done nothing.” 

Michael Masen continued to look slowly between his sons and nephew. “The one and only time in my life I have ever seen the three of you silent for five minutes together was Wednesday during the service. Let’s have it.” 

It was Edward who spoke up this time. “Honestly, Uncle Michael, we have not done anything.”

Unfortunately, Laura chose that moment to hurry breathlessly into the room and, not realizing in time that her father was also there, anxiously said, “Well?” She startled and stopped up short when she saw her father. “Oh, Father, I did not see you. Good morning.” 

Her father leaned forward with his elbows on the table and looked at his daughter. “Good morning, dearest. You seem very impatient to see your brothers and cousin this morning. Why might that be?” 

Laura’s eyes darted first to Edward, who gave a barely perceptible nod of his head. She paled visibly, and her eyes widened as she turned them to her brothers, before settling finally on her father.

Laura Masen had always prided herself on her ability to think quickly, but at this moment she could think of nothing other than the fact that Edward had been telling them the truth. With a badly shaking hand, she reached out for the nearest chair and eased herself into it slowly. 

Just as her father was about to press them for whatever they might have gotten up to, Elizabeth and Louise entered the room. Having seen Laura's reaction, both women were very distressed, and her father was prevented from questioning them further. Laura tried to assure her mother and aunt she was well, but her voice was trembling. “No. Mother, Aunt Elizabeth, I am quite well, I assure you. Please, do not worry yourselves, I merely became light headed for a moment. I will just have something to eat, and I will be fine.” Both women hesitantly accepted her assurances, but both—Elizabeth especially—watched her closely for the rest of the morning. 

Under the scrutiny of the three adults, it was nearly lunch time before Edward and his cousins could find a few moments privacy. There was a large porch swing and a couple chairs on the back porch, and they met there. It was not nearly as private as they would have wished, but their parents were still hovering over them for their different reasons, and anything more private would have aroused the suspicion of Edward’s uncle. 

Once seated, Mic, Laura, and Tommy all questioned Edward at the same time. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“How is this happening?” 

“Who is this girl? What else has she told you?” 

Edward looked anxiously around to see if they had been overheard and urged them to keep their voices down. “Her name is Bella Swan. She is sixteen years old and lives in Phoenix, Arizona in the early 21st century. I received her first letter in June. 

“I had written a letter to you, Mic, and put it in the hidden compartment in Grandfather’s desk, like I always do before putting my letters in the mail. Later that night I wanted to add more to the letter, but when I looked for it, it was gone. It never occurred to me that it had actually vanished, of course. I assumed I had misplaced it. 

“Somehow... she found it, and on a whim, wrote back to me. I found her letter the next day when I looked for my letter to you, and we have been writing to one another ever since. Neither of us has any idea how this is happening.” 

He stopped for a moment, unsure of exactly how much he wanted to share with his cousins. He knew how he felt, but he had never tried to put it in words, never tried to put a name to it, and he certainly had never thought he would ever try to explain it to anyone else. But something was urging him to share this with them, telling him it was the right thing to do, and when he saw their mesmerized faces, the words came to him. He felt his face heat up and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. He spoke so softly, they had to lean forward to hear him. “Personally... I believe it must be some... some miracle... some wonderful miracle. I know we shall never meet, but… I feel… such a… connection… to her. I cannot describe it. She is… one of the most… important… people in the world to me.” 

Edward paused once again to collect his thoughts, and when he spoke his voice was stronger, confident, and he looked up to meet his cousins’ eyes. 

“I would not trade my friendship with her for anything in the world.” 

Filled with awe, Laura’s eyes were brimmed with tears. “You love her.” 

It wasn’t a question but a statement. 

_I love her? I_... love... _her?_ As Edward thought the words to himself their truth struck him speechless, and a piece of himself he had never noticed was missing slid perfectly into place and completed him absolutely. _I love her. Dear Lord... I do... I_ love _her._

Hearing his cousin's declaration was like being stripped of blinders he hadn't known he'd been wearing, and Edward could not believe he had not seen before what was so plainly obvious to him now. How could he have fallen in love and not realized it? Shouldn't it have been like it was for his friend, Joe, the first time he saw Violet? The wonder that had lit up his friend's eyes was unmistakable to anyone who saw it. How could he not have known?

Now that he thought about it, so many things made sense in light of his realization. The overpowering disappointment he'd felt at the discovery that she was much too far from him for there to be any possibility they could ever meet, not even in his very old age.... 

And hadn't he questioned Dr. Cullen about soul mates and the purpose of a miracle that only shows him what he could never have? 

Edward remembered his anxiety and despondency when he hadn't heard from her for days at a time. How could he not have realized the truth? How could he not have realized why seeing a new letter from her filled him with such joy, or why he drew so much strength and comfort from her words?

Next to his mother's, it had been Bella's forgiveness he'd most desperately wished for after the incident with his Uncle Richard. How could he not have recognized the significance of that? 

_I love her._

Edward was completely overcome, and he wondered if the truth was as plan on his face at that moment as it had been on Joe's that day at the Red Cross building. He made several attempts before he was able to speak the words. 

“Yes, I believe I do.”

..ooOoo..

“Oh, honey, look! It’s the dress I saw in the magazine. Oh, you have to try it on! Abby, don’t you think it would look great on her?” 

Rubbing the back of her neck, Bella looked at the dress much the same way a prisoner would look at the gallows. 

“I don’t know, Mom.” 

On the other hand, her mom was looking at the dress like she was a kid in a candy store. 

“Just try it on, honey. It’ll be fun.” 

Dress shopping was about as much fun to Bella as a root canal. 

Renee gushed over another dress. “Oh, how about this one? Does this come in pink?” 

“It looks just like the first one, Mom.” 

“Oh, no! Look, they’re completely different. The first one has a much lower waist.” 

Standing next to her mother, Abby was holding the two dresses Renee had decided Bella absolutely had to try on. “I don’t think there is such a thing as a bridesmaid’s dress that doesn’t come in at least three shades of pink, Ms. Swan.” 

Bella rolled her eyes. _Great. Two against one. Gang up on me, why don’t you?_ “I really don’t know about strapless, Mom. I don’t want to be tugging the thing up all night.” She looked down at her chest and sighed. _It’s not like I’ve got much to hold it up_. 

Abby was quick to assure her. “When a dress is fitted properly, that’s not a problem, Bella. I promise, our seamstresses are the best, you won’t have to tug on it once. You’ll be perfectly comfortable.” 

_Oh, yeah? Bet me._

“Oh! Bella, honey, look! Look at this one! Look at the ruching! Oh, it’s beautiful.” 

This went on for what Bella could’ve sworn was hours, and in the end she ended up heading into the dressing room with Abby and seven dresses–count’em, seven. 

With her mother still looking at more. 

Bella hated even having to change clothes for gym in front of the other girls in the locker room when no one was paying any attention to her, and the thought of changing in front of Abby was making her feel slightly sick. 

_Really, it’s just a friggin' dress. I’m sure I can manage at least putting the thing on by myself. It‘s walking in it that’s the problem._

The inside of the dressing room shocked her. It was huge, about the size of her room at home. There were three chairs in the room, which was another surprise. _Who on earth wants an audience when they get dressed?_ But the thing that surprised her the most was a folding screen in the corner. _There is actually a dressing room IN THE DRESSING ROOM!_

Abby's back was to her as she hung the dresses on a rack on the side wall. When she turned to face her she said, “You don’t seem to be that into this, Bella. Not much of a shopper?” 

Bella admitted, “No, not really. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I wore a dress.” 

Abby grinned at her, trying to be reassuring. “They don’t bite, I promise. Why don’t we try this one first? Your mom seemed to like it the best. You just go ahead behind the screen, and I’ll hand it to you when you're ready. There are hangers and shelves to put your clothes on.” 

Grateful for the privacy, Bella went behind the screen and quickly undressed. Abby handed her the gown around the screen, and she stepped into it. She looked down at herself and let out a breath. _This is so not me._

“Once you’ve got it on, come on out, and I’ll zip you up. You can take a look at yourself in the mirrors in here before we go out to show your mom.” 

Bella stepped out, holding the gown up so she wouldn’t trip, and turned around for Abby to zip her up. She looked at herself in the mirror with Abby standing behind her. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

The dress was floor length and strapless, and the sample was in bright, cherry red. Bella looked at herself critically in the mirror. “I don’t think I’m a red dress kind of person.”

Abby laughed and showed her the swatches the dress was available in. “These are the pinks it comes in.” 

_Hmmm, Amaranth, Cerise, and Persian Rose. Why can’t they make life simple and just say light pink, dark pink, and hot pink?_ “I don’t think I’m a pink person either, honestly. The royal blue is nice.” 

Smiling, Abby agreed. “To tell the truth, I’m not much of a pink girl either. Give me purple or blue any day.” 

Bella rounded on her like she’d found a soul sister. “Me, too!”

Subtly, Abby turned her attention back to the dress. “Forget about the color. What do you think of the design of the dress?” 

Now a little more relaxed, Bella studied herself in the dress a little less critically. “At least it’s not as fitted as some of the others. I like the higher, empire waist better and how it hangs loose from there. But I really had hoped for something shorter. I’m really clumsy. I guarantee you I would trip in this a dozen times before we even get to the church.” 

“Shall we go show your mom?” 

Bella was turned partway around, looking at the back of the dress in the mirror. “Yeah, let’s go.” _Let’s just get this over with so I can go home._

They walked out with Bella holding the front of the dress up and looking down at the ground, on the lookout for anything she could possibly trip over. 

_Not that I need there to actually be something to trip over. I can manage it just fine on my own._

Carefully, she stepped up on the dais and looked at her mother, who was standing next to the dais looking at her with her hands clasped in front of her face and gushing. “Oh, baby. I knew that dress would be beautiful on you. Look at you. You look so sophisticated. Turn around, let me get a good look. Oh, it’s beautiful, honey. I just love it.” 

Bella looked at herself in the mirror, unconvinced. She thought the dress looked a little too sophisticated. A lot too sophisticated, actually. Abby showed her mom the pinks it came in, and they talked for a minute or two while Bella continued to look at herself, frowning. 

_It is better than the other ones, at least. I do kind of like the ruching, and I like the empire waist, but I really don’t like it overall._

“Shall we try the next one then, Bella?” 

The next dress was in a very shiny mauve pink, and Bella positively hated it the moment she saw it. In the first dress the ruching was tighter, only across the bust, and vertical. In this one, the folds of fabric were horizontal and wider, and she thought they just looked sloppy. The dress was very fitted from the hips up, and the skirt hung very narrow and to the ground. She looked at herself in the mirror. _I look like a stick figure. If I was ten years older and had curves... but I’m not, and I don’t._

The next dresses weren’t any better, and so far, the first dress was the one she disliked the least.

Her mother and Abby were looking at her up on the dais in the last of the dresses they had picked out. “I don’t know. I can’t decide. They’re all so beautiful on you, honey.” 

“If I could make a suggestion, Ms. Swan. There’s a dress I have in mind that I think would look great on Bella.” 

Bella mentally groaned. She'd thought this would be the last one, and she could go home and check to see if Edward had written yet. Her mother agreed eagerly, and the torture season continued.

Once back in the dressing room, Abby told Bella to wait a moment, and she'd be right back. Bella looked at herself in the mirror and tried to be impartial but failed. _What are they thinking? I look terrible in this thing._

It was only a minute before Abby was back and saying, “I think this might be the winner, Bella. I’ve been thinking about it since you tried the first gown on.” 

Bella was trying to be patient, but she really did hate shopping. She turned around, and Abby unzipped her. Once behind the screen, Abby handed her the next–and God willing, the last–dress.

When Bella looked at the dress, she felt the first spark of interest she'd had all day. She held it up and took a closer look. This dress was almost like a younger, shorter version of the first one. The sample was in a beautiful cross between blue and purple. It had a subtle sweetheart neckline and an empire waste with tight, vertical ruching above it. The empire waist itself was a narrow ribbon with a small, flat bow in the center. There were two layers of fabric, which felt light as air. The top layer was very sheer and the same shade as the bottom layer. The dress hung loosely with the top layer an inch or two longer than the one beneath it and would probably come to just below her knees. 

She really liked it. 

“Bella? You OK back there, hon?” 

_Crap. How long have I been back here?_ “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“How do you like it?” 

Bella quickly slipped the dress on and stepped out for Abby to zip her up. She looked at herself in the mirror and could hardly believe her eyes. 

_I’ve got boobs!_

The dress hung on her perfectly, and the combination of the sweetheart neckline, empire waste, and ruching made her look like she had curves. The dress was just comfortable. She continued to look at herself in the mirror, spinning around, and actually smiling at her reflection, not taking her eyes off the mirror. “I like it... a lot. I like it a lot.” 

“Let’s go see your mom, then.” 

As she walked out of the dressing room with Abby, Bella looked at her mom, smiling nervously and tucking her hair behind her ears. 

_Please let her like this one._

But Bella was disappointed as she stepped up onto the dais. Her mom had raved about every one of the other dresses the minute she'd stepped out in them, but with this dress—the one Bella actually really liked—she didn’t say a word. She didn’t even get out of her seat to come and look at it closer. She just sat there quietly. 

Bella looked at her mom in the mirror and felt her heart sinking at her lack of a reaction. Just as she was about to ask her what she thought, her mom finally spoke. 

“We’ll take it.” 

Bella spun around to her mother, nearly falling over, but before she could say anything her mother looked at her, smiling radiantly and with tears forming in in her eyes, and spoke again. “This is the only one to make you smile. This is the dress.” 

Bella looked down at the dress, and holding the skirt out a bit she spun around, feeling like a little girl dressed up as Cinderella, before looking back to her mother. “Really?” 

Renee came up and stood beside her, both of them looking at Bella’s reflection in the mirror. “Absolutely. It’s perfect on you, honey. It’s you. Even the color is perfect. That’s your color.” 

“But you wanted pink.” 

Renee stepped back and took Bella’s hand, guiding her to spin around again. 

“It’s a bride’s prerogative to change her mind. Just look how it floats around you when you spin around.” 

Abby, who had stepped back a bit, came forward again. “That really is a gorgeous color on you, Bella. And Renee, you can still have some pink. I think pale pink for the bouquet would be lovely with that color. There’s enough purple in the blue that they’d go beautifully. Don’t you think?” She held a swatch of pale pink fabric up to the dress to demonstrate. 

“Oh, yes. That’s beautiful. This is definitely the dress.” 

Renee held her cell phone up and took a picture of her as Bella stood looking at herself in the mirror, turning and watching the dress spin. 

Bella smiled at her reflection; for the first time in her life she felt really, honestly pretty.

After dress shopping, Bella suggested they pick up a few movies, wanting to keep her mom occupied and not dwelling on Phil’s being gone for the next week. Now, three movies and a dinner of Mexican take out later, she was finally lying curled up on her bed with Edward’s latest letter and feeling the rest of the world fade away, leaving just the two of them.

_July 21, 1918_

_My Dearest Bella,_

_I cannot tell you how relieved I was to receive your letter forgiving me my outburst with my Uncle Richard. My family has all assured me I was within my rights, but I confess that next to my mother’s, it was your forgiveness I wished for the most. Uncle Richard, my Aunt Josephine, and cousin Timothy all left the house immediately, and we have not heard from them since nor do we care to._

_I hope you will also forgive me for telling my cousins about you. I would never knowingly do anything to upset you, and if I offended you, I apologize. I can only say that when the thought occurred to me, it felt right._

_I am sure you will find this funny. In my anger I tried to focus my thoughts on you to calm myself. At one point, I thought the worst of the disagreement was over, and while still thinking of you and your words of support, I let my guard down and let slip those very words. I told my uncle “to stick a sock in it,” just as you told me to._

Gasping for breath, Bella laughed so hard that she had to bury her face in her pillow to muffle the noise so her mother wouldn’t come and ask her what was so funny. When she stopped laughing enough to sit back up, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she wiped her face with the back of her hand, still laughing, out of breath, and holding her stomach which was sore from laughing so hard.  
“He must’ve looked like a cartoon character with smoke coming from his ears.” 

_Once my cousins and I were alone, Mic asked me what that meant, and I had to admit I did not know. I told him I heard the expression from a friend. He, along with his brother and sister, took great delight in teasing me, and in the end, as I said, telling them everything felt right._

_Needless to say, they did not believe me._

_I wrote my last note to you in front of them, and they watched me put it in the hidden compartment of our grandfather’s desk. They were surprised when it vanished, exactly as I said it would, but they still believed it to be some trick I was playing, very inappropriately under the circumstances. Laura and Tommy examined the drawer closely and were annoyed to not see how I had done it. In the end, I must admit I broke a promise to you and told them what you had told me of the end of the war, the assassination of the Czar, and the sinking of the Carpathia. I do not believe they truly believed me until the assassination of the Czar was reported in this morning’s paper. I am deeply sorry for not keeping my word to you. I have no justification to offer other than my honest belief that it was vital they believe me, and I hope and pray, my sweet Bella, that you will once again forgive me._

_My Uncle Michael, Aunt Louise, and my cousins left late this afternoon to return to New York City. Our parents had often talked of our going to visit them there, but the visit never happened for one reason or another. My cousins and I are resolved that it will not be put off again, and last night, Mic suggested to his father that my mother and I visit them next summer. We have not yet approached my mother, of course, as it is much too soon for her to be able to consider any such thing. My uncle supported our plan and will issue the invitation sometime early next year. I hope to make the visit in August. It is my hope that a trip will give her something to look forward to, something to raise her spirits. I am greatly looking forward to it myself. I have not been to the seaside in many years, and I hope we will have the opportunity to go bathing, although it will be difficult. Mic is in a wheelchair. He contracted Polio two years ago and lost the use of his legs. It will not be possible to maneuver his chair on the beach, but I am confident that between my uncle, Tommy, and myself, we will be able to manage something. Tommy is only 13, but he is very tall and very strong for his age. To see him, you would assume he was nearer 16. Indeed, Mic himself is very strong in his upper body. I do not believe I have ever seen anything so amazing. Bella, I wish you could have seen him. He is able to maneuver the stairs on his own, with very little help—only getting out of and back into his chair. His refusal to let the loss of the use of his legs defeat him is truly inspirational._

_I am very worried for my mother. She and my Aunt Louise are very close, and Mother seemed to have rallied on Monday with her arrival. I was greatly relieved, but by Tuesday she had withdrawn into silence again. She does not speak at all unless directly spoken to, and even then I cannot draw more than three or four words from her. She barely eats, and she has not touched her knitting or her books or magazines since my father’s death. She spends most of her time upstairs in her room, only coming down when we have visitors, and when she does sit in the parlor, she stares at the chair where my father sat. She and my father used to enjoy listening to me play the piano for them, but now I am almost afraid to make any noise of any kind around her. She looks like she might shatter at the slightest sound. Neither of us has been to the hospital since my father’s death. She is unable to bear leaving the house, and I am unwilling to leave her alone._

_I am quickly coming to detest the color black, and I hope to never see it again. My father’s attorney wishes for me to see him soon to draft my own will, and I am strongly tempted to put in it that I expressly forbid anyone to wear black for me. What is your favorite color? I will ask that they wear that instead. I hope it is pink. I would enjoy looking down upon my family and friends all attired in pink at my funeral._

_I am glad to hear that the White Sox are still winning, but I have never heard of the Houston Astros. Astros is a very odd name for a team, I wonder why they would chose it. Does it have some significance? The Brooklyn Robins were once called the Dodgers. They have a habit of changing names every so often. Is it the same team, do you know?_

_Thank you for what you were able to tell me about my grandson and his family. I am not surprised you were unable to dissuade him from giving the desk to you. We Masen men can be very stubborn when we are determined. I am glad he appears happy. I wonder what persuaded him to move to Phoenix. Work perhaps? I admit I am glad my other grandson and my granddaughter still live in Chicago, and that he is moving back as well. I do not like it when family moves away. It happens too much nowadays. Mic and I were as close as brothers when they lived here in Chicago, and I miss him very much. It is a very odd feeling to know of my grandchildren at only seventeen. I cannot thank you enough. It is comforting to know my family will go on after I am gone, and that they will be happy. I feel as if I am always either thanking you or begging your forgiveness. You have given me so much, I wish there was something I could give to you._

_The song you sent me was beautiful. I cannot help but feel it almost applies to us. “Far across the distance, and spaces between us, you have come to show you go on, near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.” Who has ever traveled across a farther distance than we have? There was a motion picture short made almost immediately following the sinking starring an actress who had actually been on board. I remember the movie only vaguely, and I do not remember the name or the actress. I do not believe she ever made another movie afterward. If I remember correctly, in the movie she is reunited with her parents, who had thought her to have been lost, and she recounts to them the night of the sinking. It was only a short, and I had completely forgotten it. I am surprised I remember it at all. I remember my mother thought it in very poor taste to exploit the disaster, but she relented as it was starring someone who had actually been on board. She felt as an actual survivor was recounting the event, it was acceptable. Please do not think I disapprove of your going to see the exhibits retrieved from the site. (Please do not think I do not believe you, but I still have difficulty comprehending that mankind will one day be able to do such a thing.) I see it as much the same as my mother saw the movie. The way you explained it, it seems as it is being done in a way that expresses what those on board endured that night, as if they are having a chance to tell their stories, as the actress in the film told hers. They are being remembered. What can we ask for more than to be remembered once we are gone? There is one thing about which I am confused, though. As you know of the sinking, why you would ask why we sailed on a different ship?_

_Did you find a dress for your mother’s wedding? I am surprised you do not like shopping. I believe all the other girls I know would enjoy shopping for a new dress._

_I have a request I would like to ask of you, but I am afraid you will think me too forward. My father had a pocket locket in which he kept a lock of my mother’s hair. He carried it with him always. I wish more than anything that you could be here with me, or that I could be with you in your time, but as that can never be, what I would wish for next would be to have a lock of your hair. A small piece of you that I might hold in my hand and keep with me always._

_Bella, for someone who says she does not have a way with words, reading your words is without fail the highest point of my day. Please do not ever doubt that. Your friendship is the most important one of my life, and I, too, feel that our friendship is, that you are, the best thing to have ever happened to me. I have never in my life looked forward to anything as I have looked forward to receiving your next letter these past weeks. Please write to me as soon as you are able. I am anxious to know what “stick a sock in it” means, also “ripped him a new one” and “I Googled it.” You really do have the oddest expressions in your time, Bella. I remain,_

_Your friend,_

_Edward_

_He wants a lock of my hair. Edward wants a lock of my hair. My Edward wants a lock of my hair. A lock of my hair.... My Edward... wants... a lock... of... my... hair!_

Bella sat on her bed shaking, her heart pounding. No matter how many times she read it, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She sat immobile, paralyzed for approximately two minutes before springing up from her bed and racing from her bedroom to the small spare room to find her mother’s craft supplies. 

“Ribbonribbonribbonribbonribbonribbon... Silk flowers. Hot glue. Cross Stich. Knitting. Pastels. Where the hell is the ribbon?! Scissors. Paper for scrap booking.” 

_Scissors! Wait, I need scissors!_

“Ow! God friggin’…. Ow! Ow! Ow!” 

Madly digging through her mother’s abandoned hobby supplies without watching what she was grabbing hold of, Bella cut her finger on a craft knife that the cover had fallen off of—assuming it was even put away with the cover on it in the first place. The cut didn't appear too deep, but it really was bleeding quite a bit, and she felt herself start to sway. 

_Ugh, you would think with how many times I’ve cut myself, I’d get over the sight of blood._

Holding her breath, she hurried to the bathroom on weak legs and wrapped a towel around her bleeding finger, holding it tightly. She sat down on the floor, leaned the side of her face against the coolness of the tub, closed her eyes, and breathed through her mouth slowly and deeply as she waited for the dizzy, sick feeling to pass. 

“Bella? Are you OK, baby?” 

She startled a little at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Yeah. Just cut my finger.” 

Her mother opened the door and came into the bathroom. “Let me see.”

Some mothers might have panicked at the sight of their daughter, pale and half lying on the bathroom floor, but after sixteen years Renee was used to her daughter accidentally hurting herself and her reaction to the sight of blood. She held Bella’s hand up and gently eased the towel off to see the cut. “Hmm. I don’t think you need stitches. There’s an awful lot of blood on the towel though, but it seems to have stopped already.” Laying Bella’s hand down, she got the first aid kit out. As she was putting an antibacterial bandage on Bella's finger after carefully cleaning the cut, she asked how she had cut herself this time. 

Bella’s eyes were still closed, but they sprung open. _Crap. Think. Think. Close to the truth. Stay close to the truth._ “On a knife. I wanted… an apple. I was going to cut myself up an apple.” 

“Uh huh, but you cut yourself up instead? Really, honey. You’ve got to be more careful.”

Bella closed her eyes again and sighed. _I’m not the one who didn’t put their craft knife away correctly._

“All good now?” 

She sat up slowly in case the room started to spin, but she was getting better now, and her mom helped her up. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

Her mom was putting the first aid kit away. “Oh, you didn’t wake me, honey. I was on the phone with Phil. Great news, they won today.” 

“Oh. That’s… that’s great. Tell him I said congratulations.” 

“Are you sure you’re OK, honey? You still look pretty white.” 

Bella forced a smile, but didn’t tempt fate by nodding her head. She was still weak and a little dizzy, but the nausea was nearly gone. She took a deep breath. “I’m sure. I’m good. I just need sugar. I’ll just take my apple to my room.” 

“Use that special apple slicer/corer thing I got at that cooking show. I got it for you.” 

Bella walked slowly to the kitchen and got an apple out of the bowl on the counter and found “The-Special-So-Bella-Won’t-Cut-Herself-Apple-Corer-Slicer-Thing” in the drawer next to “The-Special-So-Bella-Won’t-Cut-Herself-Bagel-Holder-Thing.” 

_It’s like the safety scissors in Kindergarten all over again._

At their desk, Bella sat eating her apple and rereading Edward’s letter. 

_I still can’t believe he told his uncle to stick a sock in it. How am I going to explain what “rip him a new one” means? I doubt any of the girls his mother would approve of would ever say something like that._

_I don’t understand why he seems so surprised I wondered why they didn’t sail on the Titanic after all. That seems like a normal thing to wonder about._

_I’m glad he seems to think the White Sox kept winning from then till now. I didn’t have the heart to tell him the World Series they won four years ago in 2005 was their first since the one they won last year in 1917 or about the scandal they’ll be involved in next year. I wonder if I should explain where the Astros got their name? If he has “difficulty comprehending” we can go to the Titanic on the bottom of the ocean, he’ll never believe me about astronauts._

_I’m really glad he thinks it was his grandson who lived here and was just moving back. No way was I going to tell him his son had just died so soon after his father died. His son... I was in his son’s home._

Bella closed her eyes and smiled in amazement at the small connection between them. No, she’d never meet Edward himself, but she had met his grandson and had stood in his son’s home. She’d met someone who had met him. Someone who had actually touched him, who had known him and probably sat in his lap, someone who had put his arms around him and hugged him. 

_He wants a lock of my hair._

Popping the last piece of apple in her mouth, Bella took the plate to the kitchen, rinsed it off, and put it in the drainer. 

_I’m worried about his mother, though. I’ll have to see what I can find out about helping someone who’s grieving. He’s grieving too, of course, but for his mother it’s different. Especially back then. He mentioned the color black, do they still do that whole dress in black for a year in mourning thing?_

Back in the spare room, Bella found some ribbon behind the cross stitch pattern books she’d seen earlier, got the scissors, and put the stupid cover back on the stupid craft knife. 

..ooOoo..

_“Edward….”_

“Who are you?” 

_“Edward….”_

It was dark. He looked all around but couldn’t see a thing. He didn’t know where he was. His heart was pounding, but it was out of excitement. He wasn’t frightened. He didn’t know where he was, and he knew he wasn’t alone, but he knew he was safe. 

_“Edward….”_

“Who are you?” 

_“You know who I am.”_

He did. He did know who she was. He’d never heard her voice before, but he knew he’d have recognized the sound of it anywhere. It was like bells. Bells, and birds chirping, and rain falling… and music. Her voice was like the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. The most beautiful music he could ever hear. 

“Bella? Are you… are you here?” 

Laughter. Light, joyous laughter. If he’d thought the sound of her voice was amazing, the sound of her laughter was even better. 

_“Yes, Edward. I’m here. I’m here, my love. I’m here.”_

Edward ran toward the sound of her voice, looking around frantically in every direction, but he couldn’t find her; he still could not see a thing. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard he could hear it. “My love,” she’d called him, “My love.” 

“Bella? I love you. Please, love, I cannot find you. Bella, please, where are you?” 

He felt an arm wrap around him from behind and felt as much as heard her voice whisper in his ear. 

_“Stop running, my love. You don’t need to run. I’m right here.”_

Her hand slid up his chest and came to rest over his pounding heart. 

_“I’ve always been right here. With you.”_

Edward felt himself harden as he felt her lips brushing against his ear, her tongue running down to his neck, her lips leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses back up to his ear before nibbling on it gently and pulling it into her mouth. 

“Bella… I love you.” 

_“I love you, too, Edward. I love you, too.”_

Her hand was tracing circles on his suddenly bare chest, and when she ran her nails over his nipple his head dropped back, and he moaned. “Please…. Bella, please… let me....” 

She whispered, “Yes,” and he turned around, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers. He ran his hand up into her hair. He couldn't see her face, but he did see long strands of dark chestnut hair sliding through his fingers. He held her close with his other arm and grew harder when he felt her skin against his own. Her arms were around him, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. Her hands were running up and down his back, up into his hair. 

He could feel her, he could hear her, but she suddenly felt… less solid, and she sounded… farther away. 

_“Edward….”_

“Bella… I love you.” 

_“And I love you.”_

She sounded farther away still. He could still feel her warmth, but it was more like a warm breeze against his skin than a warm person in his arms. “Please… don’t leave me….” 

_“Where would I go? I am yours Edward, as you are mine. I’m still right here. With you.”_

Edward felt the slightest touch against his chest, over his heart. 

_“I have always been with you, and I always will be.”_

Edward could feel his night clothes against his skin again. “Bella, where are you? Where did you go? Why can I not find you?” 

_“You will. When it's time, you will. Wait for me, my love. I promise, you will find me.”_

“Bella, don’t leave me!” 

Edward awoke with a jolt, reaching out for someone who wasn’t there, calling out for someone who couldn’t be there. He was out of breath, his heart was racing, and he was hard. He was a typical 17-year-old boy, and although that was hardly the first time he'd dreamed of a girl's skin against his own and far from the first time he'd woken up in such a state as a result, it was the first night he'd dreamed of Bella. He sat in his bed remembering his dream; he sighed, shifted in bed slightly, and grimaced. His body definitely remembered the dream. He felt like he should be embarrassed, like he should feel that dreaming of her like... like that was betraying her trust in him. But he did not. He loved her, and this was all he would ever have of her. 

As he lay back down and slid his hand beneath his pajama bottoms, the part of the dream he remembered most vividly—OK, the second most vivid—was the way her long chestnut hair had felt sliding through his fingers. Wrapping his fingers around himself, Edward imagined it was Bella's hand stroking him. With that image in mind it did not take long until Edward could feel himself nearing his climax, and his eyes closed and his mouth fell open as he inhaled sharply. Turning his head to the side, he buried his face in his pillow to muffle the sound of the scream that wanted to break free a moment later as he came more powerfully than ever before.

Lying still and catching his breath afterward, Edward felt both sated and saddened as his body cooled and his heart rate returned to normal. He wondered, not for the first time, the purpose of being granted such a miracle, of being shown a girl whom he could love but could never have.

As he wiped his hand on one of the old handkerchiefs he kept in the table beside his bed for just such occasions—this was not the first time they'd been needed—the sight of Bella's long, dark hair sliding through his fingers from his dream replayed through his mind, and he could feel his body beginning to respond again when a sudden thought occurred to him.

_But I do not even know what color—_

Before he could complete the thought Edward's eyes snapped to their desk, and he jumped out of bed. In seconds he was sitting at their desk in wonder and holding a lock of long chestnut hair tied with a purplish blue ribbon in one hand and a short note in the other.

_Dearest Edward,_

_Sorry, I don’t like pink. My favorite colors are blue and purple. What are yours?_

_I did get a dress for the wedding. It’s almost the exact same color as this ribbon._

_As you can see, I don’t think you were being too forward, but then girls are a bit more forward in 2009 than they were in 1918. Is it appropriate for a girl to ask a boy for a lock of his hair, or is that considered improper?_

_Yours always,_

_Bella_  


  
“She has long brown hair.”  


For a long time, Edward sat at their desk holding the lock of her hair she’d sent him, feeling it against his fingers. He wrapped it around his fingers and raised his hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the strands.  


_Strawberries. She smells like strawberries._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little bit of a lemon drop there at the end... What did you think of Edward's revelation? Drop me a note and let me now.
> 
> Historical notes – 
> 
> _“EX-CZAR OF RUSSIA KILLED BY ORDER OF URAL SOVIET”_ Was one of ten front page articles in the New York Times on July 21, 1918. It did say the execution was the 16th, when it was really the 17th just after midnight, and that the former Empress and heir were taken to a place of safety. No reference was made to the Duchesses.
> 
> The Dodgers were established in 1883 in Brooklyn and were known by many nicknames before settling on The Dodgers in 1932. They were originally known as the Brooklyn Atlantics, and then also the Bridegrooms, Grooms, Superbas, Robins, and Trolley Dodgers. In 1916 and 1920, known as the Robins, they won the league pennant but lost the World Series both times. Trolley Dodgers was a Manhattanite slur for residents of Brooklyn from the late 19th Century until the mid 20th based on their number of trolley lines in Brooklyn. The Dodgers nickname first arose in 1891 when their field was bordered on two sides by trolley tracks, but it didn't become their official name until 1911 when they were called the Trolley Dodgers, which was shortened to Dodgers in 1913. The name was changed again in 1914 to the Robins in honor of new manager Wilbert Robinson. They would be known as the Robins for the rest of Edward's human life, not reverting back to the Dodgers until 1932 when Wilbert Robinson retired. - Per Wikipedia and sportsencyclopedia.com 
> 
> _Saved From the Titanic_ was a silent film short shot in the United States in less than two weeks and released on May 14, 1912 – a whole 29 days after the sinking. Its running time was 10 minutes. The film stared Dorothy Gibson, an actual Titanic survivor, who co-wrote the script. To add to the authenticity, she reportedly wore the same clothes she had on at the time of the sinking—she'd been playing bridge at the time. She, her mother, and two others—men—from the bridge game boarded lifeboat no. 7, which was the first to be launched. There was some criticism over commercializing the tragedy, but it drew large audiences and good reviews. Gibson was still traumatized by the sinking and was said to have burst into tears during filming. In the movie, her character's parents and fiancé are shown waiting for news of her after hearing of the tragedy. She arrives home, and narrates the events of the sinking in the form of a flash back. The actress later stated her decision to participate was to “pay tribute to those who gave their lives on that awful night.” It is possible that studio producer, Jules Brulatour, who she was having an affair with, persuaded her it was a huge opportunity for her career; however, it was the last movie she ever made. _Saved From the Titanic_ is considered a lost film as all known copies were destroyed in a fire less than two years after it was released. All that remain are a few production stills. – per Wikipedia.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my two PTB betas for this chapter, Thir13enth and Trilby97!
> 
> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_Edward…._

Bella awoke Monday morning slowly reaching out her hand, as if trying to catch hold of the remnants of a dream she'd already forgotten. For a moment, before she was fully awake, she thought she felt her hand brush against something solid and warm. So sure of it was that she jumped up, suddenly frightened, thinking there was someone in her room, but when she looked around her room she was alone. Her eyes rested on their desk and she felt herself smile. 

_Well, not really alone._

Her hand drifted up to run through her hair, feeling the now short strands at the back of her neck. As she played with the ends, her smile widened. _He asked me for a lock of my hair. Elizabeth Bennett, Mary Ann Dashwood, Anne Elliot.... Eat your hearts out._ She covered her mouth with her other hand as her smile turned to laughter before looking back at their desk and biting her lip. 

_Has he gotten it yet? Has he...._

In a heartbeat, Bella had already jumped out of bed and hurried to their desk. Holding her breath, she opened the hidden compartment and felt a lump in her throat. Her eyes fell shut, and she took a deep breath before reaching out slowly, almost afraid that if she moved too fast she’d wake up from a dream and into a world where Edward had never existed. The moment her fingers touched the lock of bronze hair tied with an emerald green ribbon, her face split into a huge smile.

_It’s his. It’s part of him. A real part of him._

Bella picked up the lock of Edward's hair reverently, as if it was the most precious, fragile treasure in the world, and ran it lightly across her lips, smiling as it tickled slightly. 

_Good morning, Edward._

There was a small slip of paper in the drawer and she picked it up, still holding the lock of his hair to her lips. 

 

_Thank you._

 

She closed her eyes again, still smiling. The way she felt right now, she didn’t think she’d ever stop smiling. She was holding a piece of Edward. She was really touching him. “You're welcome, Edward. Thank you.” 

. . . . . . . . . . . 

“…we all need energy to function, and we get this energy from the foods we eat. The most efficient way for cells to harvest the energy stored in food is through cellular respiration. Now, there are two types of cell respiration. Aerobic respiration requires oxygen in order to generate energy. Can anyone tell me the other type? Bella?” 

Bella had been staring at her notes and absently playing with the short strands of hair at the back of her neck. She looked up when her teacher called her name. The smile had not left her face once all day. 

There were several hands up, but Mrs. Brewster was approaching her desk, obviously thinking she had not been paying attention. 

“Anaerobic.” 

Her teacher looked pleasantly surprised, relieved, and nodded her head. “Very good. Anaerobic respiration does not require oxygen and is mainly used by bacteria that live in environments devoid of oxygen….” 

In truth, Bella had only been half listening, and she straightened up in her chair, trying to at least appear focused on the lesson. She had spent the entire day smiling, daydreaming about Edward, and playing with the short strands of hair hidden at the back of her neck, and the day had flown by. This last class, however, was dragging on forever, and she glanced at the clock once again. _Still fifteen more minutes._

The only thing that had managed to dampen her mood all day was thinking about how worried Edward was about his mother. Bella didn’t know the first thing about helping someone who was grieving, and she was anxious to get home to see what she could find online. 

Once the bell finally rang, Bella gathered her things and hurried out the door to her locker. Running down the stairs as quickly as could while trying not to trip and take anyone out, she saw Jason looking at posters on the wall supporting the baseball team, and she remembered Phil’s game from the other night. She still didn’t know why his team lost if they tied the game up; she was sure it went into overtime… or extra time… or something. _He’d know._

“Jason? Hey. Hi.” 

Visibly startled, Jason jumped and looked at her like she was the last person he ever expected to see. 

_Jeez, we do go to the same school, you know._ He only looked at her for a moment before licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck while looking around nervously. He stumbled over his words. “Bella. Uh, hi. Hi. I… I haven’t seen you in a while….. How… how’s…. everything?” 

_Peachy. Jerk._

“Good. Great. Everything’s great. How’s everything with you?” Bella nodded her head at the posters on the wall and asked about how the team looked this season. 

“What? Oh… oh, um, um, yeah, the… the team… the team is good. Yeah, good. Did, did you, um… I mean, I… I was just, um, looking at the… um….. The Spring Dance is coming up soon. It’s, it’s, um… it’s… girl’s choice… this year.” 

Bella looked at some of the other posters on the wall she hadn’t noticed, and sure enough there was a poster for the dance next to the one for the baseball team. She really wasn’t interested in the dance. Honestly, she really wasn’t interested in talking to Jason, period, but she wanted her question answered. 

“Yeah, it is. Hey, Jason, there was something I wanted to ask you.” 

For a moment his mouth fell open slightly, then his face lit up like he’d just won the lottery. Bella turned around and looked behind her expecting to see Brittany Logan or some other girl standing there, but there was no one. _Weird. So, anyway…_

“So, my mom and I went to Phil’s game the other night, and there was something I didn’t understand.” 

Blinking twice, Jason stared at her, not saying anything. 

“Right. So... I wanted to ask you about it.” 

When he didn't speak after several long moments, Bella continued.

“If that’s OK?” 

Finally, Jason snapped out of it, running his hand through his hair nervously and looking down at the ground. He took a deep breath before looking back up at her. “You wanted to ask me… about baseball?” 

_What is up with him? He looks like someone just told him his dog died._ “Um, yeah. I mean, if that’s OK?” Just because Bella didn't feel the same way about him she once had didn’t mean she wanted to see him miserable. And the last time they talked, when Mrs. Brewster kept her after class, he had seemed worried about her. Of course, he’d also tried to use her to get to Phil. But, still.... Even after she'd said no, he'd still looked concerned about her. “Jason? You OK?” 

Fidgeting uncomfortably, Jason adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as he answered and gave her an obviously forced smile. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Yeah, I’m fine. So, um, what did you want to ask me… about baseball?” 

Bella explained the last out of the game, trying to remember everything and hoping she got everything right. 

“The run doesn’t count because the batter got out going to first. If there are two outs, the batter has to reach first base safely, or the run doesn’t count.” 

“But the run scored before the batter got out.” 

“Doesn’t matter. The run doesn’t count if the batter doesn’t reach first safe.” 

“Oh. That’s… that’s stupid.” 

The corners of Jason's lips twitched seemingly reluctantly, and he laughed a little, but like his smiles, it was forced, and he tugged on the strap of his back pack again. 

_Does he have rocks in there or something?_

“Yeah, well… rules are rules. So, um… have you, um, have you… asked… anyone yet?” 

She looked at him, confused. “Asked anyone what?” 

He gestured to the poster for the dance. “To the Spring Dance.” 

Surprised, Bella laughed. “Me? _Me?_ Dance? Um, no. No, definitely not. No that would be... that would be bad.” 

“I don't think it'd be bad. I think it'd be fun.” 

The way Jason was looking at her made her think she had something on her face, and she tried to rub her hand over her face surreptitiously. 

“I’m a bit accident prone. Someone could get hurt.” 

“Don’t be silly. I’m sure I, I mean, I’m sure… whoever you went with… could… keep you from hurting yourself.” 

Still laughing, Bella shook her head saying, “Believe me, he’d need body armor. Or to be made of marble or something.” She looked out the windows. “Oh, crap. I missed my bus.” 

Jason's smile turned genuine as saw the buses pulling away. “I’m sorry I made you late. Don’t worry about it though, my car is in the lot. I can take you home.” 

Bella was hesitant. “You’re sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to make you late for practice. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you had to run laps.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure, come on. Practice doesn’t start for another hour. I’ve got plenty of time.” As they turned and walked down the stairs and out of the building, Jason took her book bag from her. “I got the new CD from that band you like.” 

Arching her eyebrow, Bella looked at him skeptically. “Why? You said you didn’t like them.” 

Grinning as if he was very pleased with something, Jason shrugged his shoulders, looking straight ahead. “They’re not that bad. They grow on you.” 

They talked easily on the drive to her house, and as Bella was getting out of the car, Jason called to her. “You should think about going to the dance. Just… come out… hang out… just… have fun.” 

“Yeah. Fun. Tell that to the kids I maim.” 

Bella let herself into the house wondering what was up with him, but soon put him out of her head. She needed to see what she could find out about supporting someone who was grieving. After turning the computer on, she went to the kitchen and took some chicken breasts out of the freezer to thaw in a bowl of water for dinner. From behind her, she heard a chirping noise and looked around before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “What? Oh, Mom….” 

_Right. Grieving Process... OK... Grieving and Healing… Stages of Grief… Grief Process… Coping… OK, let's try searching “Help someone who is grieving.” 8,730,000 results.…_

Bella blew some hair out of her face, clicked on the first link, and started taking notes. By the time her mother came home, she was so focused on her reading–with nearly three pages covered with notes–that she didn’t hear her come in. 

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Renee walked into the kitchen and got a can of soda before returning to the living room and leaning against the arch between the two rooms, watching her daughter taking notes for school. She hadn’t even looked up from her work. 

“What class are you working on, Honey?” Renee shook her head, smiling at her daughter. “Bella?” 

Bella’s only response was to mumble something under her breath about not saying I know how you feel, and Renee approached her daughter, laughing. “How I feel about what? Bella?” Renee put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, causing Bella to scream, jump out of the chair, and throw her notes in the air. 

Seeing her mother, Bella leaned against the computer desk with her hand pressed over her frantically pounding heart trying to catch her breath. “Jeez, mom! You scared the crap out of me.” 

“Not that I don’t want you to focus on your school work, Honey, I do, but maybe you could relax just a bit. I’ve been talking to you since I got home, and you didn’t even look up. What are you studying that’s so fascinating?” 

Bella jumped again, trying to turn the monitor off before her mother could see what was on it, but Renee was standing closer to it than she was. “Supporting a grieving person?” Renee looked at Bella, surprised and guilty. “I know I’m a bit down about Phil being gone, but I’m not _that_ bad, am I?”

She'd been biting her thumb nail while trying to come up with a plausible reason why she would be looking up information on grieving, and for half of a second, Bella debated grabbing onto that idea and running with it, but the worried expression in her mother’s eyes shot it down. She hurried to try to reassure her mother. “What? No. No, Mom, of course not. No, it’s, it’s just….” 

Relieved, Renee asked, “Research paper?” 

A miniature image of herself popped into Bella’s head, jumping up and down and screaming, _“YES! A research paper! That’s good! Go with that!”_ Not wanting to have to look at her mother, Bella bent over and picked up the papers that she dropped as she nodded and answered her, “Um, yeah. Yeah, just a, just a short one. Extra credit. For Mr. McNeil.” 

As she straightened back up holding her papers against her chest like a safety blanket or a shield, Bella tucked her hair behind her ears. Her eyes darted to her bedroom door, but her mother was looking for something in the drawer and didn’t notice the quick glance. Bella asked if barbeque chicken and fries sounded good for dinner, and Renee answered distractedly, “Yeah, sounds fine. Have you seen the charger for my cell phone?” 

“Kitchen counter. Your phone is charging now. It was chirping when I got home.” As Bella watched her mother go to the kitchen, she bit her lip and mentally crossed her fingers. She wanted to look through her notes and write to Edward, and she wanted to be sure her mother wouldn’t come looking for her for some mother-daughter bonding time while Phil was away. _If she’s calling him, I’d have to spontaneously combust to get her attention._

Once she heard her mom talking like a teenager with her first crush, she let out a breath and called out to her, “I’ll be in my room!” 

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

_Dear Edward,_

_I got the lock of your hair, thank you. It’s incredible to actually have part of you here with me. I know that was something that was done often in your time, but we don’t do it anymore. I was afraid it was inappropriate for a girl to ask a boy. Your time is so much stricter than mine on boys’ roles and girls’ roles. Today, it doesn’t really matter. Actually, there is a dance at my school coming up, and it’s “girl’s choice”, the girl asks the boy._

_I’m not upset that you told your cousins about me or that you told them what I told you. I trust you. There is nothing to forgive. I’m just glad they didn’t have you committed. Just remember, if they get you a nice new jacket that ties and buckles in the back and lock you up in a padded room, there’s not really anything I can do._

_“Stick a sock in it” is a rude way to tell someone to be quiet. If you stick a sock in something that makes noise, you muffle the sound. When I read that you actually told your uncle that I completely cracked up. My stomach ached, and I couldn't breathe. If you Google something, you look it up on the computer._

_I think the idea of you and your mother going to visit your family in New York City is great. I’ve been to the West Coast, but I’ve never been farther east than Albuquerque. That’s in New Mexico, btw. The town where my dad lives in Washington is on the coast, but it’s not what my idea of a beach should be. Beaches should be sunny and hot. Forks is neither. Ever. I am going to visit him in Forks for Easter. My mother thinks I’m crazy. She doesn’t like it there at all. It’s always wet and cold. He usually takes me somewhere else for vacation, somewhere warm, but I’m beginning to see how unfair I’ve been to him. He’s always taken me somewhere I would like, but I’ve never asked him where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do. Forks is his home, he’s lived there all his life, his parents and grandparents lived there all of their lives, and all of his friends are there. I should at least make an attempt to meet his friends and get to know them. I will have to buy some new clothes. What I wear here in Phoenix in the middle of winter won’t be near warm enough for Forks in spring. More shopping. Fabulous._

_There has been a lot of research done into how people grieve in the last 91 years. I tried to find out as much as I could, but we deal with grieving after a loss much differently than you do, so I don’t know if this will help or not. Most articles I found did say that it is normal for there to be highs and lows. One actually compared grieving to a roller coaster, with ups and downs. (Do you have roller coasters yet? They kind of make me a little sick.) It also said that just like a roller coaster, the worst ups and downs were in the beginning, and they lessen after a while. Everything I found seemed to agree that there is no normal, there is no right or wrong. There may be nothing you can do or say, she may just need you to sit quietly with her not talking. Just squeeze her hand or put your arm around her. If she mentions your father, let her talk. Don’t let anyone tell her what she should or shouldn’t feel. No one knows what she has lost more than you do, but even your loss is different from hers. It is important to try to get her to eat, though. She needs to eat and sleep, and she needs to get exercise. Does she garden? Can you and she go for a walk, or is she expected to not leave the house? We don’t really do the whole wearing black all the time thing. Some people refuse to wear black at all after someone dies. I hope that doesn’t sound disrespectful to you. They’re remembering and celebrating the person’s life, rather than mourning their death. You said you had gotten a lot of flowers, does your mother have a favorite flower? Maybe you can try to keep some around the house. Or flowers in her favorite color. Have you asked her if she would like you to play for her? If you play while she is in another room, could she hear you? That way, it could be up to her if she joins you or not. I wish I could hear you play._

_I’m very sorry about Mic. I hope you’ll be happy to know that we have a vaccine to prevent polio now. And there are laws and a lot of organizations to help people with disabilities today. There are even sports leagues. There was an article in the newspaper recently about the University of Arizona Women’s Wheelchair Basketball Team. Go Lady Wildcats!_

_I’m confused why you would be confused why I would wonder why you didn’t sail on the Titanic. If your mother didn’t persuade your father, why did he change your plans?_

_I don’t know if I should tell you where the name Astros comes from. You’d never believe me._

_Don’t be silly, Edward. Of course the Dodgers aren’t the same team today they were in 1918. Ninety one years is a long time. I’m sure they have all new players by now._

_Your friend always,_

_Bella_

 

After finishing Bella's letter, Edward sat with his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Her letter lay in front of him on their desk. _Very funny, Bella. Very funny._ He wiped his eyes as picked her letter back up. His laughter faded, and he found it hard to swallow passed the lump in his throat. _They can prevent polio. They can PREVENT POLIO. Can... can they also cure it? Will… will Mic one day.... Might he one day… walk again?_

Edward squeezed his eyes shut and covered his mouth with his left hand in absolute amazement. _Why did I not think of this before? Of course. We have made such strides, what more might have been learned by her time? If they can go to the ocean floor, what else can they do?_ He stood up and walked to his window with her letter still in his hand. He looked up at the nearly full moon peeking out through the clouds, thinking about his father. Looking back down at her letter, he felt his eyes fill with tears. 

_What else can they prevent? What else can they cure? Might Father.... In her time… might he.... Might there have been something that could have been done? Her world is so advanced. They can do so much. Certainly, no one would die from a simple flu. She has said how every different her world is from mine. Her world seems like a place of wonder. What must she think of mine? We must seem so…_ backward… _so…_ limited… _to her._

Walking back to their desk, Edward felt a heavy sadness he had never before felt after reading one of her letters. 

\- - - - - -

“Good morning, Mr. Masen.” 

“Nellie, good morning, thank you. Did I hear the telephone?” Edward held the coffee she handed him up to his face, inhaling the aroma. He would never be fond of mornings, but having a cup of Nellie’s coffee to look forward to first thing made them tolerable. 

“Yes, sir. Dr. Cullen telephoned from the hospital. He apologized for the early hour, but he had very good news for you that he was sure you would want to hear as soon as possible. He said one of the patients you had been visiting is being discharged this afternoon, a man named Peter Lord. He said the young man would like to see you again before he leaves if at all possible. Dr. Cullen said he thought you might like that, as well.” 

Edward’s eyes were closed in appreciation of both simple things like a perfect cup of morning coffee and great things like Peter Lord’s miraculous recovery. “Perfect, Nellie, as always. Yes. I would quite like to see him before he leaves. I will go immediately after church. I am sure one of my aunts can come and stay with my mother.” 

He sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about the young soldier and how far he had come. “You would be amazed, Nellie, to see the progress he has made. When he was first admitted to the hospital, his prognosis was not very good.” He was silent for a moment, remembering what all the young man had endured. He said quietly, “It is nothing short of a miracle that he is so improved as to be able to return home.” 

Nellie was busy measuring ingredients into a large mixing bowl and had her back to him. “I am glad the young man is recovered, sir.” She turned to face him and gave him a small, proud smile. There was a streak of flour on her cheek. “You must be pleased. If I may say so, sir, Maggie and I are both very proud and grateful for the help you give our boys. You are doing a very great service.” 

Embarrassed at being praised so sincerely for doing so little, Edward looked down at the table, unable meet the undeniable pride and gratitude shining from Nellie's bright blue eyes, gratitude he did not feel he deserved. “I don’t do so very much at all, truly. These men have endured… unspeakable horrors. Others have given their lives. What do I give? A few hours? A few dollars? It is nothing.” 

He heard Nellie let out a small, stifled gasp, and he went to her in concern, squeezing her shoulder gently. He could kick himself for his stupidity. 

_Brilliant, Edward. Remind her of the “unspeakable horrors” her brother is facing over there. Idiot._

They were silent for a few minutes while Nellie collected herself, lifting the hem of her apron to wipe her eyes. “Please forgive me, Nellie. I was very thoughtless to speak so. I am very sorry.” 

Some of her long blond hair had fallen loose from its bun, and she stepped aside to pin it back again. She wiped her eyes again as she spoke. “I just pray this horrid war will be over soon.” 

Edward filled a glass of water for her and handed her his handkerchief for her eyes. “I have every confidence it will.”

\- - - - 

“Thank you again for telephoning, Dr. Cullen. I am glad to have had the chance to see Peter and wish him well before he returned home.” 

“You are most welcome, Edward. He was glad to see you as well and to thank you personally.” The two men were walking down the hallway to Dr. Cullen’s office. “You and your mother have been missed at the hospital. May I ask, how is your mother doing?” 

Upon entering the office, Dr. Cullen crossed the room and sat behind his desk. Edward’s eyes roamed around the office for a moment without answering. He had only been in here once before, when he used the telephone one afternoon, and he had not taken notice of the doctor’s collections then. There were several display cases, one of which contained several wooden cylinders, some were whole and approximately a foot long, others were in two or three pieces. They looked to be about an inch and a half in diameter. Some had fluted ends, like a trumpet, and others were the same diameter from end to end. They ranged in color from light wood to ebony, and some had what appeared to be ivory on one or both ends. His natural curiosity piqued, Edward approached the cabinet to get a closer look at them. “You are quite the collector, Dr. Cullen. Are these all stethoscopes?” 

The doctor's chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “Some of those are very early examples, dating back to 1819. The more recent are as new as the turn of the century.” 

Edward was fascinated. 

“Do you know the history of the stethoscope, Edward? How it came to be invented? It may amuse you.” 

Edward shook his head and said no, still absorbed by the collection, his eyes roaming from one to another. 

“The stethoscope was invented in 1816 by a young French physician named Rene Theophile Hyacinth Laennec. The amusing part is his motive. He was examining a young patient, a young female patient, who I believe was rather... well endowed,” Dr. Cullen stopped for a moment and Edward could hear him chuckle quietly, “and, well, he was embarrassed to place his ear against her chest, which, of course, was the only method of examining the circulatory and respiratory systems at that time.” 

Edward dropped his head and closed his eyes. He was smiling and biting the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. 

“Dr. Laennec remembered a trick he'd learned as a child, that you can hear a pin scraping one end of a wooden plank by putting your ear to the other end. Remembering that sound travels through a solid object, he rolled up several sheets of paper, placed one end to his ear, and the other to the young woman’s chest. Fortunately, not only for himself and his patient but also for doctors and patients worldwide, he discovered that the sound was not only audible through the paper cone, but was in actuality louder and clearer than if he had listened directly at her chest.” 

Undeniably surprised, Edward turned to look at the doctor. “One of the most fundamental pieces of medical equipment ever invented, and we owe it to a child’s trick and embarrassment?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Amazing.” 

“Indeed.” 

The smile faded from his face and he turned away from the doctor. “One hundred and two years ago. That was one hundred and two years ago, and we are still relying on it today. We’ve hardly improved upon it at all. We have not progressed nearly so much as we like to think. There is still so much we do not know, so much we cannot do.” 

Dr. Cullen rose and approached him. “Edward, look at me.” 

After taking a deep breath, Edward faced the doctor. 

“Yes, it is true that we still have much to learn. Medicine, indeed science in general, advances very slowly. There is much, much trial and error and retrial and error before a discovery is made or a treatment is developed. And then there is yet more trial and error trying to improve upon it. Yes, we do still use a piece of equipment invented one hundred years ago, but that does not mean there has not been progress since. And besides, there have been improvements made.” Dr. Cullen gestured to his collection. “As you can see, the original design only allowed the doctor to listen with one ear. And they were rigid, less easily carried around.” 

Dr. Cullen returned to his desk, and Edward remained standing near the display case. 

“The best, most practical discoveries endure. If you wish to become a doctor, one of the first things you must learn is patience. Patience and determination and resilience. Above all, you must not let yourself become so bogged down by what you cannot do that you fail to appreciate that which you can.” The doctor’s voice lowered. “Take it from me, that can be very easily done be and can be dangerous.” 

“Dr. Cullen? Do you think we might one day be able to prevent diseases like polio?” 

“You are thinking, I presume, of your cousin–I believe you said his name was Mic?” 

Edward nodded his head, turning to face the doctor again. 

“I believe we will. Someday.” 

“Do you, do you think someday… we will be able to… give people like Mic... to give them back the use of their limbs?” 

“I truly hope so. I hope so with all my soul. However, I am sorry, Edward, but I am afraid it is very unlikely to be in time for your cousin’s benefit. I believe strongly in the ability of mankind to find ways to do what was previously believed to be impossible. The human mind is incredibly resourceful when it is determined.” 

Dr. Cullen smiled and picked up his stethoscope. “And sometimes, we just get lucky.”

Edward sighed and looked around at some of the doctor’s other collections. “Dr. Cullen? If someone from... say one hundred years from now could see us, what do you think they would think of us?” 

“How old are you, Edward?” 

Edward turned and looked at the doctor, confused. “Seventeen, sir.” 

“Are you sure? You ask some very... provocative questions for a seventeen year old.” 

Edward looked down in embarrassment. 

“I mean that as a complement, Edward. You think. Not very many people do. I do enjoy our talks. But,to answer your question, I would hope they would see us as honest, as generous, and as hard working. I suppose I would hope they would see us the same way I would hope others today would see us. Why do you ask?” 

“No special reason. Just... what if... say, they could prevent polio. What if they could, I don’t know, what if they could go to the bottom of the ocean and explore shipwrecks. Do you think they would… think… poorly… of us…. that they would think…. less of us… because we cannot do what they can? Do you think they would see us as simpletons?” 

His voice faded as he spoke so much that the last was whispered so softly Edward was surprised the doctor heard him. 

“Simpletons? No, of course not. Why would they think that? Of course, in one hundred years one would expect advancement, but to pass judgment on the past for not knowing what is known in the present would be unfair.” 

Edward hesitantly looked back at Dr. Cullen, who was quiet for a moment before continuing. 

“One hundred years from now? They would be your grandchildren and great grandchildren. Did you know your grandparents, Edward?” 

After Edward nodded his head, the doctor continued. 

“When they were your age, did the telephone exist? Were there aeroplanes? Could your great grandparents, at your age, have imagined the electric telegraph or that we can today prevent rabies in a person bitten by a rabid animal? If they could see you flip a switch or pull on a chain and have an electric light turn on across the room, what would they think? Do you think less of them for not having had what we have? For not knowing what we know?” 

“No.” 

“No, of course you do not. Nor will your descendants think less of you for not having what they have.” 

Dr. Cullen rose and directed Edward’s attention to another display case and another of his collections, but Edward spoke first. “I apologize, Dr. Cullen. You asked me about my mother, and I did not answer you.” 

“It is quite alright, Edward. I do not wish to pry.” 

“You are not prying, sir. We.... I greatly appreciate your assistance, especially... that night.” 

Edward did not like to think about the night his father died at all if he could avoid it, much less talk about it, but he wanted to let Dr. Cullen know how grateful they both were to him. 

“How is your mother? Is she sleeping? Eating?” 

Edward kept his eyes averted, looking at the wall. It seemed easier somehow. “She is not eating much at all. She looks… so very tired, and her voice…. She never speaks unless spoken to directly, and even then it is impossible to get more than a few words from her, but her voice sounds so… resigned… so defeated.” 

“It has only been a little over a week, Edward, what you describe is what I would expect. It is not only physical wounds which take time to heal, you know this. I know it must be very difficult for you to see her so altered from her normal self. She will come around, but give her time. Do not be impatient; do not try to rush her. 

“Her not eating is a cause for concern, as is her apparent lack of sleep, but as I said, it has only been a week. If you do not see some improvement regarding her eating and sleeping habits in the coming week or so, please do let me know. But it could be some months before you begin to see any real return of her normal self.” 

Edward let out a breath and looked at the collection the doctor was showing him, shaking his head. He leaned against the wall and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I feel so useless. My father wanted me to take care of her, but I am afraid of doing the wrong thing.” 

“What do you do with the soldiers here in the hospital?” 

“Sir?” 

“What do you do with the soldiers here in the hospital? You and your mother have been through a traumatic experience–different from theirs, I grant you–but not entirely different. Just like them, you and she both need time to heal. Do at home what you do here. If she wishes to talk, let her. If she wishes to remain silent, let her. If she wishes to talk about your father, let her. If she wishes to discuss the shortening length of ladies skirts, let her.” 

Edward couldn’t help but smile a little in appreciation as Dr. Cullen lightened the mood slightly. He really could not understand why so many people–everyone really–seemed almost afraid of the man. Dr. Cullen was young, somewhat shorter and thinner than average. There was nothing at all threatening about him that Edward could see. He seemed perfectly amiable to him, and Edward thought his judgment of people was pretty good, and he knew his mother’s was excellent. _What do they think he will do? Attack them? Bite their heads off? Anyone who spoke to him for even just a few minutes could see he would never hurt even a fly if he could avoid it._

“That goes for yourself as well, Edward. Please know my door is always open, to both yourself and your mother, but I expect you would prefer to speak to a friend your own age. Or perhaps someone who knew your father, your uncle or cousin, for example.” 

Edward was more grateful for the offer than he could rightly express, and his voice caught in his throat as he spoke, “Thank you, sir. Personally, I am very much in favor of the shortening length of ladies' skirts.” 

Dr. Cullen was as still as a statue for a moment before a smile lit up his face, and he laughed heartily. 

\- - - - - -

_“...I got the lock of your hair, thank you. It’s incredible to actually have part of you here with me....”_

Edward's father’s gold pocket locket, which now held the lock of Bella’s hair in addition to locks from both of his parents, rested in his waistcoat pocket, and Edward lightly traced the edge of it with his fingertip. _It is incredible to have part of you here with me, too._

Dr. Cullen and Bella had both suggested that perhaps his mother just needed him to sit with her, without his trying to get her to talk, and that was exactly what he was doing. _She will talk when she is ready._ His mother had been sitting in the parlor alone and quiet, and he joined her with a disappointing book he had been unable to find the interest to finish. The book was only a shield to hide Bella’s letter as he read it again and again. 

_“…there is a dance at my school coming up, and it’s ‘girl’s choice’, the girl asks the boy…”_

_The girl asks the boy? She cannot be serious. Can she? She must be teasing me._ Edward moved his hand from the locket to her letter and ran his finger over her words. The thought that Bella might attend a dance with someone sent chills of jealousy through him so strong he shivered with them, but the thought that she might actually approach someone and ask him to escort her made him feel physically ill. 

_You are being stupid, Edward. And selfish. You know very well that you will marry and have at least one child. You know you will love another. Do you not wish the same for her? Do you wish for her to spend her life alone, waiting for your next letter? You will find someone and fall in love, and she will do the same. It may not be soon, but one day, she will meet someone, and she will fall in love with him. And when she walks down the aisle in a long white dress, it will be him she walks toward, not you. Not you._ Edward took a painful breath and tried to focus on the parts of her letter that didn’t leave him feeling empty and cold.

_...“stick a sock in it” is a rude way to tell someone to be quiet.... ...When I read that you actually told your uncle that, I completely cracked up. My stomach ached, and I couldn‘t breathe.... ...If you Google something, you look it up on the computer....”_

_So, “stick a sock in it” is rude is it? Good. Why would she say that made her crack up, though? That’s odd. And she said her stomach ached and she couldn’t breathe. Has she been ill? Would she not have said? Perhaps not, if she were afraid of alarming me. Still, why would she mention it in such an odd way? I still don’t know what “ripped him a new one” means, but I am guessing it is rude, too. A new what, I wonder? And now I need to ask what “btw” means. “Btw”? How in heaven’s name can you have a word with no vowels? I still think ‘Google’ is an odd word._

_“…there are laws and a lot of organizations to help people with disabilities today. There are even sports leagues. There was an article in the newspaper recently about the University of Arizona Women’s Wheelchair Basketball Team. Go Lady Wildcats!…”_

Edward closed his eyes and tried to picture ladies in wheelchairs playing basketball, but for the life of him, he could not. He could not begin to imagine how people in wheelchairs could possibly play any sport. _Of course, I could not have imagined that Mic could manage the stairs by himself either.  
“…why you didn’t sail on the Titanic?…”_

_She continues to ask that. It is almost as if.... Could it be? But.... No.... Surely, she could not.... Could she? My silly Bella, you must._

_“…Don’t be silly, Edward. Of course the Dodgers aren’t the same team today they were in 1918. Ninety one years is a long time. I’m sure they have all new players by now.”_

_Very funny, Bella. Two can play at that game, my love. Why did we not sail on the Titanic indeed._

“Are you enjoying your book, dearest?” 

Edward looked up from the book in which he had Bella’s letter concealed at his mother in surprise. She had spoken to him on her own, with no prodding, to ask him about his book. “Oh, no, not very much, I am afraid. It is a bit tedious.” 

“What book is it? Is it a new one?” 

Edward was relieved. _That makes three questions._ He would have to tell Dr. Cullen and Bella their idea worked. “Yes, it is. Zane Grey. _The U. P. Trail._ I had high hopes for it. It had very good reviews. It is a Western, or at least it is supposed to be, but seems mostly to be about the adventures of one very unlucky young lady. One can only flee an evil step-father, be attacked by Indians, be rescued by her true love, be kidnapped by outlaws, be attacked by Indians and taken captive again, escape, run into the step-father she was fleeing in the first place, escape again and be reunited with her true love, only to be imprisoned and forced to escape again, be captured by her step-father again and so on, so many times before you begin to think the poor girl is some kind of a magnet for trouble. How many life threatening situations can one girl get into?” 

“I thought you must be enjoying it. You were smiling.” 

_“...Have you asked her if she would like you to play for her?…”_

“Was I? I hadn’t realized. I was just thinking perhaps I would play for a while before bed. Would you like that, Mother?” 

His mother’s gaze had drifted back to his father’s chair, and she was silent for what seemed like a very long time. It was very hard for Edward to sit still and not try to get her to talk more. _Don’t talk. Don’t talk. She spoke to you on her own. Give her time. Let her talk again when she is ready. Do not rush her._

His mother closed her eyes slowly and continued to sit quietly before opening them again. If Edward did not know better, he could almost swear that she could see his father sitting there still, that she was speaking to him while she was silent. Perhaps she was. If he could write to and receive letters from the girl he loved seventy-five years before she was even born, who was he to say his mother could not still see and talk to his father even after his death? 

“Yes, dearest. That would be lovely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes – From what I saw online, in 1918 “crack up” referred only to going crazy. The meaning to crack up laughing didn't come about until the 1940's. - answers . Com
> 
> The history of the stethoscope is true. I love that scene. I can't remember how I came across the discovery of the stethoscope, I absolutely had to include it. The collection of stethoscopes is meant to reflect the graduation caps from the movie. They are all ones that Carlisle has personally used in the past century,
> 
> Bella refers to Edward telling her about all the flowers they received after his father died. Funerals were held in the home and bodies were not embalmed. They got rather ripe rather fast. The custom of sending flowers after someone died was originally to mask the smell. 
> 
> Women's hemlines began to rise about this time–both out of practical needs as their roles began to shift as the men went to war and out of a need to conserve resouces, namely fabric–from floor length to just above the ankle. By 1919, hemlines had risen to a shockingly scandalous 6 inches off the ground. (Gasp!)
> 
> At the end of the chapter, Edward is reading from a Zane Grey book, _The U.P. Trail_ , which was the bestselling book in 1918 according to Publisher's Weekly. I've never read it myself, I took Edward's impression of the book from reviews I found online on Amazon. I got a kick out of the description of a girl who was a danger magnet, rather reminiscent of Bella. U.P. stands for Union Pacific.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completely written and 50 chapters, about 380,000 words. It took over a year to write. I read a lot of letters written by WW1 soldiers to try to get the right expressions and wording.
> 
> This may remind you of the “The Lake House” with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves, at least at first, but I actually got the idea from a made for TV movie from about 15-20 years ago, “The Love Letter.”
> 
> I tried to be as historically accurate as possible in an everyday way. The War Chest Auction Edward mentions was really held and did net (a whooping) $2050. The baseball game Edward describes is the real game the White Sox played on June 20, 1918, and the case his father is working on was a real case in Chicago that June. The description of the life of Claude Debussy is from Wikipedia. And yes, Life Savers did once come in violet flavor, as well as chocolate, licorice, cinnamon... and _clove. ___(Ewww!)


End file.
